Ubi Caritas
by ty.soglasna
Summary: AU of HBP. Hermione's sixth year is turning out a bit...complicated. She's having strange dreams, Pansy seems to be trying to seduce her, Ron and Harry aren't speaking to her, not to mention that Voldemort's back. Award winning fic! Femslash. HIATUS
1. Prelude

**Title:** Ubi Caritas

**Summary:** AU of HBP. Hermione and company must face challenges this year that no one was expecting - from the rise of Voldemort to problematic romances to new classes and private lessons. Life is quickly becoming a game to which Hermione doesn't know the rules, but she is determined to learn on her feet if she has to, and more, to win.

**Disclaimer: **(All official-like for once!) This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Notes: **This is the beginning of what I see as a pretty epic Pansy/Hermione fic. (Well, epic in terms of length at least - we all know how I tend to write - but I'll let you be the judge of the quality of the content itself.) Writing something this long is relatively new for me, but I have an outline pretty firmly planned out; I know where this is headed. (So hopefully I will not get lost in the middle! Knock on wood.) Thus, I plan to keep myself to a reasonably strict update schedule - say, every two weeks for now and see how it works. Chapter one's going up before then though because this isn't exactly a _real _chapter. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and feel free to be mean to me if I fall behind schedule. (Please!)

**Warnings:** Reasonably explicit femslash, other slash and het pairings later on as I see fit, angst, my own crazy sense of humor, gruesomeness, some violence. If you don't want to / aren't allowed to read things of this nature, please leave now! And now, on to the story...

**Prelude: Three Dreams**

In a darkened room, a young woman slept. It was a neat room, and unremarkable. The curtains on the single large window were drawn tight; the only light in the room came from a faint strip of light seeping in under the door to the hall, which illuminated dim outlines of furniture – a desk, a bed, a bureau, a chair. Books of all sizes covered every surface like snow; the one on the bedside table was still open to the chapter that read "Transfigurations to and from Precious Minerals," a hair tie left in the gutter as an impromptu bookmark.

On the bed, the young woman's face contorted fractionally, and she let out a small whimper. The large cat that had been sleeping in a tight ball at the other end of the bed uncurled itself, padded up the length of the bed, and settled itself again on the pillow, virtually indistinguishable, in the gloom, from the wild hair which already blanketed the pillow.

The room settled back into its former stillness.

Without warning, the girl on the bed sat up with a gasp, dislodging the sleeping cat and fighting off the sheets which had become tangled around her. She scrubbed her hands across her face, but it did not erase the wild look in her eyes, nor do anything to slow her panicked panting. The cat, seemingly willing to forgive the offense this time, twined itself around the girl's sitting form, nudging its head against her hand insistently.

Hermione shook her head to dislodge the vestiges of the nightmare, and obligingly scratched Crookshanks on the head. His thunderous purrs managed to drag a weak smile out of her, after a moment. She took a deep breath, and tried to forget, but it was hard with the cold sweat still soaking her pajamas and the back of her neck, and the primal fear still clawing at the edges of her mind. She checked the time on her glowing alarm clock – only half past midnight; she hadn't even been asleep for that long - and told herself that there was nothing to be afraid of; it was just a dream.

Her body was not convinced though, so she disentangled herself from the clinging sheets and got up, heading for the bathroom door on the other side of the room. Being able to have one's own private bathroom was one of the better perks of having two dentists for parents, she had to admit. She shucked her clammy pajamas and stepped in the shower, turning the knob all the way, and the water that cascaded over her body did wonders at washing away the nightmare.

This was not the first time she had had this particular interruption to her sleep. It was the second time this summer that a nightmare had startled her awake, and Hermione was not one to have nightmares, usually. It had been the same one both times, too. The roaring fire and the blood falling and hissing on the embers, drop by drop, and the tall figure standing before it, only an outline against the flames, standing and then throwing itself down in prostration. And the voice whose words were like hammer blows. The dream wasn't_ about_ anything, as far as Hermione could figure out, but it carried with it the same inexplicable feeling of stark terror each time. She wished that it would just go away.

After a time that was much longer than strictly necessary to rinse off the sweat, Hermione shut off the water and wrapped up in a towel, flipping the light switch off as she left the humid bathroom. Feeling much more relaxed now, she took her time toweling her hair dry, and paused to check through the contents of the large trunk in the middle of the floor one more time. Satisfied that everything was in its place for the trip to Hogwarts tomorrow, she crawled back into bed and picked up her Transfigurations text book and began to read.

Crookshanks climbed up and settled on top of her, and with the earlier fear mostly forgotten, Hermione read herself to sleep in the pool of light from her heavily-shaded bedside lamp.

-) U C (-

Miles away, in another darkened room, a boy with stormy hair and furrowed brow tossed in an unkempt bed. In marked contrast to the other room, this one was cramped and untidy, its contents thrown into sharp relief by the stark moonlight pouring through the window. An empty owl cage sat on a desk that was covered in papers and empty sweet wrappers, and a large trunk lay open on the floor, its contents strewn across the room. The boy in the bed was moaning indistinguishably as he fought against invisible foes, loud enough to be heard from the next room. Harry was dreaming about Voldemort again.

In his dream, Voldemort was sitting in a large, dark, room, at the head of an equally large table. Harry could feel coils of himself looped around the top of the chair, and a skeletal white hand extended to stroke his head periodically, making him hiss in pleasure. Voldemort was addressing a sniveling figure in front of them in a high thin voice.

"Bring the boy, Wormtail. It is time."

The sniveling figure, Wormtail, flinched and bowed to the floor.

"Yes, my lord, I shall! At once, my lord!" He bowed again, and scampered out of the room. When he was gone, Voldemort let out a chilling, humorless laugh.

The laugh lanced straight through Harry's forehead like a knife, and he awoke panting and clutching his scar, which still throbbed with white hot pain. He might have screamed. He was still awake an hour later, when a brown owl tapped at the window. It wasn't even five in the morning; too early for the Prophet, but he tiptoed over to the window anyway and opened it. The owl flew off as soon as he had detached the parchment from its leg, so he took it back to his bed and unearthed the flashlight that served as his bedside lamp from under a pile of socks and t-shirts.

The note consisted of nothing more than two lines of spidery script, and a signature. Harry was apparently to have private lessons with Professor Dumbledore this year. Strangely comforted, he extinguished the flashlight and fell back into a dreamless sleep, still clutching the piece of parchment.

-) U C (-

Across the country, yet another dim room. What books there were sat demurely in the shelves, and there was no clutter. The light of first dawn seeped in weakly past the heavy brocade curtains on the tall double windows, just barely illuminating antique-looking furniture and a large wardrobe whose doors swung open, revealing the robes within. The large four-poster bed with its heavy blue drapes – they matched the curtains on the windows – contained no sleeper among its rumpled blankets and scattered pillows, however.

Instead, the dark-haired girl, who had presumably occupied the bed until just recently, was sitting at the desk by the windows, legs tucked up under her to avoid the early morning chill. She was chewing on the end of her quill, regarding a long sheet of parchment in front of her that contained what looked like several lists, which were in the process of being crowded out by a host of small drawings that had grown up in the margins and taken over almost every free space. Next to this piece of parchment lay an official-looking sheet containing what looked like O.W.L. results, heavily annotated (and somewhat less heavily doodled-upon).

The girl's brow was knitted, and she switched to chewing on her right thumbnail as she reached out with the quill to cross out an item on one of the lists. She regarded it again, added another item to the same list, and then began feverishly bulleting out a new list in a rare clear space further down the parchment. There were only a few hours left before it was time to leave to meet the Hogwarts express, and Pansy Parkinson was strategizing.

-) U C (-

**Note:** I hope this will be the first, and last, time that I say this, but for what it's worth - please review! I'd love to know what you liked, what you didn't like, parts that were confusing or good, about the characters, the plot, your reaction...anything! Concrit is especially appreciated, but if you don't have any, I'd still love to hear from you. From here on out, though, I will try to stop overtly review-begging...it's my belief that a truly good story attracts reviews on its own merits! Chapter one will be up soon (aka, less than a week.)


	2. The Gambit

**Note:**Thanks for everyone's reviews so far! Here's chapter one. Things are starting to get … interesting… for Hermione (As if she didn't have enough to deal with already!). The same warnings/disclaimers from last time still hold. Oh, and in case you were wondering, this is the length I plan to shoot for for regular chapters. Onwards!

1. The Gambit

Hermione's hopes of having a normal sixth year, such as they were, were shattered before classes had even begun. It all started innocently enough – it was the first morning of the fall term and Hermione, Harry, and Ron were eating breakfast together at the Gryffindor table. More precisely, Harry and Ron were eating breakfast, and Hermione was nibbling on a piece of toast while scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, scowling, erasing what she had written, and repeating the process.

Harry took a break from demolishing the pile of scrambled eggs on his plate and leaned over to look over Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione, what are you working on? Classes haven't even started yet; you can't possibly have homework."

Hermione crossed out something on her parchment, and looked up. "No, of course it's not homework, Harry, don't be ridiculous. I'm working out tentative schedules for all three of us, based on OWL results and planned career paths. With the new staffing shift – Professor Slughorn might have different standards for his NEWT potions class, but we can't be sure – It changes everything I had written down already…"

Harry sat back and rolled his eyes. "I don't even see why you're bothering to do that now; Professor McGonagall is probably going to give us our real schedules in a few minutes anyway…."

"I wanted to get a head start on working out a study schedule for the three of us, and I obviously need to know what times we all have free –" she started.

Ron emerged from his own heaping plate of breakfast at this point, shaking his head vigorously at Harry, and (managing not to fling any significant amount of food off his fork in the process) mimed something to the effect of, "just ignore her when she gets like this; it's better for everyone."

Harry shrugged and they went back to their respective breakfasts, leaving Hermione to work on her schedules in peace.

This peace was, however, a relative thing; being the first day of the term, the Great Hall echoed with the buzz of conversation from all four house tables, as friends caught up after a summer apart and gossiped about the latest revelation about Harry Potter in the Daily Prophet. The Slytherins, in particular, seemed to be engaged in this latter activity, if the copies of the Prophet bearing the headline "Boy Who Lived – Chosen One, Or Clever Hoax?"being passed up and down along the table was any indication.

Hermione was buttering a third piece of toast when the food vanished from the table and Professor McGonagall started to work her way down the table, distributing schedules. Hermione, Ron, and Harry had seated themselves near the top of the table, so they were among the first for McGonagall to go to. Hermione munched on the toast as she waited her turn. She was planning on going on with all of her subjects except Care of Magical Creatures – she wanted to keep her options open, but even so, there was little point in taking that one to N.E.W.T. level.

Beside her, Harry's and Ron's conversation was getting louder and more articulate, since it was no longer impeded by large masses of partially chewed food filling their mouths. She caught the word "Slytherin," and surmised that Harry was probably having another go at convincing Ron that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater assigned to complete some evil task while at Hogwarts. He had shared this theory with both of them last night after the feast, and Hermione had found it less than convincing. She supposed that he would try again to convince her next; he probably thought that his task would be easier if he could work on them both separately.

And then it was Hermione's turn; she tucked away Harry's problem in the corner of her mind marked To Deal With Later, and set her mind fully on the important task of picking classes.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. Now let's see here…" said McGonagall, pushing her spectacles up her nose. She inspected the long roll of parchment that Hermione assumed held all the students' information. "Ten 'Outstandings,' and one 'Exceeds Expectations'; well done." Hermione beamed. "I assume you wish to continue with all of your subjects?" she asked, her wand poised over the blank parchment which was to become Hermione's schedule for the term. "You understand that this will leave you with no free periods?"

"Actually, I was planning on giving up Care of Magical Creatures, Professor," Hermione interjected.

"A wise decision on the whole; more study time can never go amiss. Unless you were planning to pursue private lessons?"

"No, I'm sticking to the regular classes, for right now at least. Like you said, more study time…"

Professor McGonagall allowed a slight smile to play about her lips, and tapped Hermione's parchment. "There you go. I trust you will come to me if you have any issues with your course load or class selection at any point in the year?"

"Of course, Professor. Thank you!" Hermione flashed a smile and walked off toward Ron and Harry, (who had kindly stopped to wait for her) as she inspected her new schedule. She unconsciously filed away the professor's offer in the box in her mind labeled To Be Considered Should the Situation Arise. She smiled at Ron and Harry when she got over to them (they had resumed their discussion from earlier, and only nodded back), and moved off toward the entrance with them, still inspecting her schedule.

It wasn't much different from what she had predicted, which was good; she wouldn't have to change her earlier plans much. The biggest unknown of course was still Ron's and Harry's schedules; she would have to talk with them about it at lunch. She was pleased with her own schedule; it was reasonably well-balanced, and she had a free period tomorrow – good, because by then she would plenty of homework to fill it with.

The schedule indicated that right now she had Transfigurations – excellent; she had be particularly looking forward to that one since she had finished reading the Advanced Transfigurations textbook over the summer – and after that there was Advanced Potions with Professor Slughorn; she was curious to see what his class would be like…

She was interrupted from her contemplations by Ron and Harry, whose discussion was now being carried out in increasingly loud voices. Hermione looked up from her schedule with a long-suffering look and the intention to ask them to quiet down, just in time to hear Ron mention her name.

"Yeah, me too, but I bet Hermione wouldn't think – Oi, Hermione!" Both boys stopped walking and swiveled around to face her, expectantly. Hermione stopped too, so as not to run into them, and noted that they had come to a halt alongside the Slytherin table, where most of the upper-year students were still sitting, waiting for Professor Snape to come around and hand out schedules. Hermione cocked her head to the side and listened as Ron continued. "You remember Dumbledore's speech last night?"

"Yes," said Hermione, wondering where this was going. Of course she remembered the speech. It had been about what dangerous times these were – as if everyone didn't know that already – and how, in times like these, those who did not stand together would be the first to fall. He had worked it around nicely from there to the topic of inter-house unity, and had exhorted all students to maintain their ties to members of other houses, or forge new ones, so that Hogwarts would continue to stand proud in these dark times, as she had for millennia past – and then he went on to list places that were off limits to students, and the importance of listening to the prefects…

"So," said Ron, "We were thinking about this whole inter-house unity tripe he was spouting, and I think he must have gone around the bend –"

"His intentions were good, though! In a war, you can't take any chances -" Harry interjected here, but Ron took this in stride, as though he had not been interrupted.

"Sure, he might have the best intentions under the sun, but if he honestly think that we're going to 'strengthen our bonds to members of other houses' or whatever, then he's just not thinking straight – I mean, _maybe_ it would work if we were _all_ Hufflepuffs, but if you have any grip on reality, you should know that's the last thing that's going to happen in this school – I don't even_talk_ to any Slytherins, for one; don't know any Gryffindor who does…"

A few nearby Slytherins craned around in their seats and started to listen, smirking, as though possessed of an extra sense that let them know when a Gryffindor was about to make a fool of himself in their vicinity.

Hermione bristled. Of course the Headmaster's speech had been well-intentioned, but it would be just so many puffs of air if the students didn't take it seriously. "Ron, just because _you_ don't talk to any Slytherins doesn't make it a good idea not to – what about the part where he said about forging_ new_ ties, then?" She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. Ron was being stupid _again_, and it was going to make her late to class.

Seeing that she was unconvinced, Ron changed tactics. "Well, would _you_ want to be friends with a Slytherin, Hermione?" He crossed his arms across his chest and relaxed, as though confident of her answer already.

"Of course I would; we're not all bigots like you, Ronald." Didn't he notice that they had an audience? Of course, that had never stopped him from saying whatever popped into his mind in the past. And she was _really_ going to be late for class if she didn't get going now.

Ron looked momentarily stymied, but then his eyes lit up and he played his trump card. "Well, would you _date_ a Slytherin?" He and Harry shared a smug look that spoke volumes about how sure they were that even Hermione's foolishly high level of tolerance wouldn't allow her to contemplate _this_ abhorrent act.

"In the spirit of inter-house unity? Yes, I would date a Slytherin," proclaimed Hermione boldly. She was perversely gratified by the identical expressions of shock that spread across the boys' faces, and even more so when Ron started to splutter incoherently.

Though now that she succeeded in claiming the moral high ground for the day, she really, really needed to get to class.

Pansy Parkinson, who had been unabashedly observing the whole argument, stood up from her spot at the Slytherin table and stepped out in front of Hermione. "Would you go out with _me_, Granger?"

It took a moment for the meaning of the words to filter through, but when they did, they were met with a crystal clear rationality. _Pansy Parkinson just asked me out on a date – shit. How did that happen? And all the Slytherins just heard our whole argument; I supposed I can't help but say yes, then._ Things like Hermione's longstanding dislike of the Slytherin girl or the questionable nature of Pansy's motives didn't really factor into the decision, at this point. It was a matter of standing up for what she believed in, or looking the utter hypocrite. And becoming a laughingstock in the school, for that matter.

Hermione looked Pansy up and down, stalling for time. The Slytherin girl submitted to her gaze, as though she had only been expecting it. Hermione had only noticed her before as a girl her own age, with a slight pug nose and dark hair cut in a bob, wearing Slytherin robes. That was all she had needed to see, really.

Now that she was really looking, though, she noticed the other things. Pansy stood exactly the same height as Hermione, her body looking surprisingly skinny through her school robes. She wore little jewelry – the only piece that Hermione saw was a ring that glittered dully on her left hand – and her face was free of the small glamours that most girls their age used in place of makeup. At this point, Hermione noticed that the other girl wore a smug, appraising look on her face, as though she were sizing up Hermione in exactly the same way, and Hermione blushed and dropped her eyes.

"I –" she faltered. She saw out of the corner of her eye that the other Slytherins were watching the tableau in front of them with rapt attention, and she realized that she really was cornered, here.

She put on a smile that she hoped didn't look too brave. "Of course, Parkinson, why not? I would be delighted." She winced, inwardly, at the words – the last thing she felt at the prospect was delight;_ duty_ was far more accurate. Or dread, if she was being honest.

Pansy's eyes lit up, and Hermione could hear an ungraceful choking sound coming from Ron's direction. The students at the Slytherin table smirked at each other and started to murmur under their breaths, and Hermione bit back her exasperation. Why did everyone have to be so surprised when she did something like this? Was it such an uncommon thing to see someone who wouldn't back down from her principles at the first challenge?

"Hogsmeade alright?" Pansy asked, conversationally, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn't exactly smiling, or even smirking, like the rest of her house, but a light still danced in her eyes in a way that made Hermione vaguely uneasy.

"Yeah, sure," said Hermione, trying to regain her composure. "That would be lovely. Catch you later…" she gave a smile that was far more confident than she was feeling, and ducked away, mumbling some excuse about getting to class. Harry and Ron came to themselves a moment later, and jogged a few steps to follow her out of the Hall.

As soon as they had gotten past the entrance hall, they started in on her.

"Hermione, look, you know you can't seriously be thinking about going out with a Slytherin – we were just joking, weren't we, Ron?"

Hermione glared at Harry, who was walking on her left. Ron nodded vigorously as he come up to walk on her other side, so the two of them were flanking her. She wondered if they had planned it that way in advance or whether it had just happened.

"And why can't I? Someone has to stand up for their principles around here!"

Harry looked at her as if she had just asked him to please explain _why_ one plus one made two. "Because, there's a _war on_! Malfoy is probably a Death Eater, and you know how tight he is with Parkinson. They could be planning to pry information on the Order out of you, for all we know! You can't trust a Slytherin as far as you can throw him even in normal times, and _now_?" He threw up his hands, exasperated.

Ron stepped smoothly into Harry's pause, not giving Hermione the chance to speak. "And Hermione, did you _not notice_ that she's a_ girl_?

"Of course I did; I don't see how that subtle fact could have escaped my notice." Hermione found herself growing increasingly irritable.

"But –"

"I don't see how it's your place to say who I get to date, Ron."

Ron turned red and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut in, coming to his aid.

"That's not the only reason, Hermione – Sure, you can choose who you want to date, but Pansy? It's dangerous; who knows what her motives were for asking you were – at the very best, she's probably planning on humiliating you in front of the whole school; and honestly, you don't even _like_ her."

Hermione was afraid that she was going red in the face herself. Why couldn't they just be reasonable for once? "That hardly matters at this point; this is bigger than just Pansy and me. And I think the least we can do is to trust her until she proves untrustworthy, don't you? Aren't we Gryffindors supposed to care about doing the right thing?"

Hermione found that her voice had become increasingly loud and impassioned. She took several deep breaths and said, in a more normal voice, "Come on, we'll be late for class."

They were very nearly late for Transfigurations, even though they walked fast. They sat together, as usual, but a glowering silence had descended on the trio, and Hermione studiously avoided eye contact with either Ron or Harry. The temptation to glare was too great, and she didn't want the term to get off to a worse start than it already had.

Perhaps, if her choice hadn't been attacked right from the start, it would have been different. She really didn't like Pansy at all, and was already dreading their "date." What she really would have appreciated at this point was sympathetic friends, but what she got was adversarial ones. Forced to defend her choice against them, any doubt in her mind of whether this was really the right thing to do had been firmly crushed.

And if she didn't like the idea of a date with Pansy – well when the time came, she would live through it, for the sake of the example she would be setting for the rest of the school. One date – an hour or two alone with Pansy, at most – it couldn't be that bad, could it? Hermione knew that she was rationalizing, but there was nothing better to do in this situation. The best she could do was distract herself by taking notes, and try not to dwell on the fact that her next class was Potions, with the Slytherins.

-) U C (-


	3. Potions Class

I would like to formally thank, and apologize to, my wonderful beta. She read a draft of these chapters for me, and in my supreme forgetfulness, I forgot to mention her before now!! Arrrgg. Anyway, this chapter (and the last one) was beta'd by Ogis, and I am immensely grateful for her help! It would have been significantly more crappy without her ; )

A/N: This is coming in just a day before my self-imposed two-week deadline…but it's a bit of a longer chapter this time! And we get to see what Pansy thinks of all this…

2. Potions Class

The Gryffindor trio stormed out of the hall, and Pansy sat back down at her place and accepted the congratulations of her housemates, as was her due. Gryffindor-baiting was considered the highest form of amusement in her house, and Potter-baiting the highest form of that. Pansy had just pulled off the two at once, and admiration was only to be expected for such a masterful feat.

Pansy smiled and laughed along with them and let them see what they expected to see. Any one of them would have been the gloating victor in her place – the golden trio brought low, and before classes had started, too! – and she played the part just as well as they would have.

Pansy smiled to herself. That had gone over pretty well, all things considered. She hadn't planned on asking the Gryffindor out until the argument had broken out right in front of her, but she was no stranger to making good decisions on the fly, and she could tell this would be one of them.

Granted, the timing wasn't the best it could be – the next Hogsmeade weekend wasn't for more than two weeks, giving Granger plenty of time to find a way out of it, or more likely, feel increasingly awkward about the whole thing. That would be unfortunate - Pansy preferred the snapping, conviction-filled Granger who she had trapped just a minute ago, but she would take what she could get.

As soon as their schedules had been handed out, Millicent leaned across the table to consult with Pansy.

"So, what did you get? I have a free period right now, but then Potions." She wrinkled her nose at this; even though Snape had blatantly favored his own house in that class, Potions was still one of Millicent's weaker subjects.

Pansy scanned her own schedule. "Same as you; free then Potions," she reported, without looking up. Not many students made it to Advanced Potions; she would probably be in the same class as Granger still. Millicent jabbed her tactlessly in the arm to get her attention, and brought up the topic that she was obviously burning to talk about.

"So, are you really going to go on a date with that Mudblood?"

Pansy inclined her head. "I said I would, didn't I? Besides, the Gryffindors are probably counting on me backing down." Millicent nodded. Pansy grabbed her schedule and her bag and headed down the Hall toward the entrance, letting Millicent meet her at the end of the table. Draco, who had been sitting a few seats down from her, got up and followed her.

"Got a free period now, too?"

Pansy nodded.

"Good, then we're going to the same place. Don't mind if I join." It was neither a question nor a demand, just a statement of pure fact as Draco saw it.

Pansy batted her eyelashes at him and allowed him to sling an arm over her shoulders. Well, it wasn't _entirely_ his fault if he saw things a certain way.

Millicent caught up with them at the entrance hall, breathing a little heavily, and picked up their conversation as if it had never been interrupted. "But why did you _do_ it, Pans?"

Pansy cringed inwardly, but didn't show any sign of her discomfort on the surface. She hated it when Millicent called her that; it was too familiar. Though of course telling Millicent this was out of the question unless she wanted to grant her that power over her.

"She was just asking for it," Pansy explained, as they made their way through the crowded halls back down to the dungeons. She didn't need to let anyone know the deeper motivation for her actions; the more immediate reason would be a perfectly satisfactory explanation for Millicent or anyone else who asked.

"One couldn't very well let a claim like that go unchallenged," she continued. She could tell Draco was paying attention to their conversation, even though he generally liked to pretend that anything that could be construed as girlish gossip was beneath his notice. "Honestly, do Gryffindors even _think _before they speak?" Millicent giggled, and Pansy repressed a cringe. Millicent giggling was not a sound one generally wished to have introduced into one's auditory experience.

Pansy was used to it, though, and went on with her simplified explanation undaunted. "And seeing as no one else was stepping up, I thought I might as well be the one to call her out on it. 'In the spirit of inter-house unity? Sure, I would date a Slytherin,'" she quoted, making her voice into a high and whiny parody of the Gryffindor's. "Really, the things they say…as if we weren't the only house worth dating _anyway_…" She let out a short laugh, and Millicent and Draco joined in.

"I wouldn't have done it though…" said Millicent when she had stopped laughing. "I mean, if even if I was…you know." Pansy rolled her eyes and intoned the password under her breath; they had reached the blank stretch of wall that marked the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Millicent claimed to accept Pansy's 'deviant' sexual preferences (Pansy herself preferred the word 'unusual'- just because something was uncommon didn't make it _wrong_), but the mere mention of it still made her comically uncomfortable.

"And besides," Millicent continued, having mastered her discomfort, "she's a Mudblood…just the thought of having to spend time with_that_, much less…" She shuddered, and Pansy rolled her eyes again. It was times like these that made her wonder again at the fact that Millicent didn't object to sharing a room with her, although Pansy supposed that it would have looked even worse for Millicent to have put up a fuss.

"I admit, it will be hard," – she injected a long-suffering sigh here – "but imagine the looks on the Gryffindors' faces when they realize that one of their own is going out with a member of the Dark House."

Millicent guffawed. "And they won't be able to do anything about it!"

"No, not if I have any say in the matter. I'll have their precious little know-it-all wrapped around my little finger…" She struck a pose, and Millicent laughed again.

Draco gave her an impressed look, and mouthed, _We have to talk later_, before drifting off toward the corner where Crabbe and Goyle were lurking.

Pansy ejected a couple of grumpy-looking fourth years from her favorite corner of the common room (that's what they deserved for trying to skip class, anyway), and sat down on the couch. She pulled out a book from her bag, intending to read until her next class, although she knew it was unlikely that she would be allowed to do so. She imagined that her actions at breakfast had made her too much of an interesting person to be left alone for long – Millicent, for one, probably wasn't done with her, and she couldn't be the only one with something to say.

However, Millicent drifted over to some of her other friends in another part of the room, leaving Pansy in welcome solitude for the time being. She didn't get much reading done, though – her thoughts were still caught up around the events at breakfast. She pulled out a many-times-folded parchment from her bag and unfolded it safely behind her book. Out of all the Gryffindors, she hadn't expected it to be Granger. The thought had crossed her mind, of course, but she was trying to be practical, above all else, and that meant sticking to people who would actually consider going out with her – which meant boys, realistically speaking.

Now, though… She summoned a quill from her bag and circled the name_Hermione Granger_ in the list labeled Highly Unlikely, and allowed herself a slow smile. (She had actually wanted to label that list Would Be Ideal But Highly Unlikely to Actually Happen Unless By Some Miraculous Chance, but that hadn't fit on the page.) Things were off to a much better start than she could have hoped for, already. In any case, she had Granger committed to one date already, and that was all the toehold she needed. Pansy's smile grew wider.

-) U C (-

Pansy, Millicent, their dorm mate Tracey Davis, and Blaise – Draco seemed to be running late – arrived at the potions classroom before anyone else, and queued up by the door. The girls fell into a gossipy conversation about Millicent's sister's new fiancé, while Blaise stood aloofly off to the side, pretending not to listen in.

Before long, voices could be heard echoing down the corridor, signaling the arrival of the three Gryffindors. They fell silent as soon as they rounded the corner and noticed the Slytherins standing there, but it looked to Pansy like they had been arguing. And judging from the way Potter and the Weasel studiously avoided looking her way, she guessed it had been about her. She tried to catch Granger's eye, but the other girl was blocked from sight by her two bodyguards. They had probably done it on purpose. Pansy looked away, affecting disinterest. Well, let them do it then, and see how much she cared.

Millicent and Tracey carried on their conversation in low voices, but everyone else stood around in a stony silence as the rest of the students arrived and queued up. Presently, Professor Slughorn opened the door and ushered them in. Draco slid in the door at the last minute, looking smug, and either didn't notice or didn't care when Professor Slughorn gave him a disapproving look.

The three Gryffindors took a table with a Hufflepuff boy that Pansy didn't know, and the four Ravenclaw students in the class took a table together, of course, leaving the five Slytherins to distribute themselves among the two remaining tables. Draco, who had taken a table by himself in the back of the room, gave an arrogant jerk of his head, beckoning her over to join him, which she did. She thought he could be an insufferable prat most of the time, the way he acted, but what he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Slughorn started lecturing the class on the wonders of Potions brewing (as if they didn't already know), stopping to ask questions at strategic points (all of which Granger answered correctly, Pansy noted) and pointing out showy examples brewing in cauldrons around the room.

Pansy was singularly unimpressed. She sneered, not caring if Professor Slughorn saw it. Professor Snape had never had to resort to this kind of showmanship to hold a class's attention; he had been able to do that by sheer skill and force of personality.

Pansy pulled out a scrap of parchment and began doodling a picture of Snape, wand outstretched in one hand and a vial of glittering potion in the other. Draco leaned over in his seat to watch.

The lecture continued to be worthless, so the picture branched out across the blank page as she added what looked like Slughorn, kissing the hem of Snape's robes; a figure representing Potter – if the exaggerated lightning bolt scar was any indication – engulfed in a cloud of smoke emanating from a painstakingly-shaded cauldron; and, curling around the top of the page, an indeterminate species of dragon, breathing a large amount of rather stylized fire at Slughorn's expansive backside. No one seemed to notice that she wasn't paying attention to the class, except for Draco, who snorted when she made doodle-Potter clutch his neck and stick out his tongue as the clouds of smoke surrounding him grew heavier.

Pansy looked up from her increasingly crowded page in time to hear Slughorn announce a brewing contest to take place during the rest of the period, with the prize of a minute vial containing twelve hours worth of Felix Felicis potion. Pansy perked up at this, and noticed Draco do the same thing at her side. Well, wouldn't that be a _most_ handy thing to have around…

Pansy arrived at the supply cabinet before anyone else did – the Gryffindors, who were in the frontmost table, were hanging back to discuss something with the professor – and rummaged around surreptitiously for the book she hoped was still there…and yes, here it was. She transfigured it into a scoop of violet petals before she withdrew it from the cabinet, and brought it back to her table with the rest of her ingredients.

Draco was getting his own ingredients when she got there, so she took the opportunity to slip her own copy of Potions, Grade 6, back into her bag, and transfigured the book she had retrieved from the cupboard back into its natural shape.

She flipped the book open to the passage on the Draught of Living Death, and was gratified to find these pages well marked up. It was the work of a few seconds to cast a glamour on the book such that the pages appeared clear and crisp and the cover whole, and by the time Draco, looking immensely peeved, sauntered back up the aisle with his ingredients and joined her at the table, it was indistinguishable from her own brand-new copy.

Pansy smiled sweetly at him and started dicing ingredients, mentally thanking Snape yet again. It was thanks to him that she knew about this textbook, which contained alternate directions to almost every potion they studied, and which, as a rule, produced better results than the official instructions.

In their third year, Snape had insinuated to the Slytherins at large that any of them having trouble in Potions would be well advised to refer to a certain used copy of their text in the supply cupboard. Not all of her classmates had taken him up on his offer – she suspected that Vince and Greg hadn't understood it; and Blaise would never admit to needing help in Potions, no matter what the source – but she had found the book helpful and used it on more than one occasion. And a bit more sleuthing revealed that the miraculous manual did not stand alone, but was the first in a set of books for each year until they left Hogwarts. The Slytherins' potions grades were always quite high after third year.

Pansy murmured the incantation that would let her alone see through the glamour on the pages of the book – _that_ one had been a lot of work to master, but well worth it in her opinion – and peered at the alternate instructions, trying not to squint too much. It wouldn't do to let her housemates know that she had an advantage. She added the preliminary ingredients to her cauldron and sat back to let them steep.

She passed the time by watching the Gryffindors. Granger's potion appeared to be progressing nicely – she was already well ahead of Pansy – but she could tell that the other two, who appeared to be working with borrowed materials, were already well on the road to failure.

Her own housemates, however, seemed more concerned with talking amongst themselves than working, though she knew that Blaise, at least, would be able to pull off a passable result nevertheless. Draco, on the other hand, was applying himself with a fervor that Pansy had not often seen even in this, his favorite subject; he was chopping his ingredients with mathematical precision and referring to his book with practically every other motion.

Pansy smirked. Apparently _someone_ thought he really needed that lucky day. _Well, sometimes, we just can't all get what we want…_

She didn't go as far as sabotaging his potion – she already knew that hers would turn out better – but she wasn't above keeping up a lively whispered banter with him as the class wore on. It wasn't_ her_ fault if he was easily distracted, and she wasn't. By the time Slughorn called time, her potion was the palest lavender that the book described as the mark of the ideal ending stage, while Draco's potion could more accurately be described as light violet. Pansy smirked again.

She did catch him eyeing her own perfect potion suspiciously, however, and so she ostentatiously picked up her apparently new textbook off the table and dropped it in her bag. He knew very well that the Slytherins' secret version wasn't allowed to leave the room, and none of the Slytherins had ever violated this rule, out of silent respect for the advantage Snape was giving them. However, Snape wasn't here anymore…

Slughorn exclaimed loudly over Pansy's potion when he arrived at her table, and gave her a patronizing grin that rivaled Draco's own.

"A superior Draught! Truly magnificent!" he proclaimed, and producing a minute vial full of clear golden liquid from within the folds of his robes, presented it to Pansy. She took it and thanked him, beaming back especially ingratiatingly, since she was sure that Draco was glaring daggers at her back.

Granger, whose potion could only have been half a shade darker than Pansy's, was looking at her with an expression of new respect on her face. Pansy caught her eye and smiled, more sincerely than she had to Slughorn, and was further surprised to see the Gryffindor's mouth lift slightly at the corners in return. Pansy would have expected her to drop her gaze and turn away. Pansy felt a curl of anticipation unfurl in her gut. She had assumed that the girl's bravado at breakfast had been mostly a front for her friends, but if not…_well, this could be even more fun that I thought_…

As soon as Slughorn turned away, Pansy immediately transfigured her own Potions text into a flask, and filled it with the potion from her cauldron before stoppering it and shoving it back in her bag again.

Draco gave her an odd look, but she just stuck her tongue out at him and cast a glamour on her cauldron to make it look full again. This wouldn't be the first time that one of them had snuck a potion back from class, out of mischief or plain curiosity.

She knew that Draco wouldn't talk; she hadn't turned him in when he "accidentally" brewed Hangover Potion instead of the migraine cure they were supposed to be working on, and then brought it all back to his dorm with him in the most conspicuous fashion…_Boys_.

Pansy rolled her eyes and followed him out of the classroom, catching a whiff of something intensely alluring as she passed the table with Slughorn's demonstration potions on it. She inhaled again, and would have stayed to savor the scent, but then Millicent grabbed her arm, jabbering something about not wanting to be late to Snape's first Dark Arts lesson, and she was pulled along and out of the room before she could take another breath.

-) U C (-

Hermione paused to watch the Slytherin girl breeze out of the room surrounded by her gang of friends, without so much as a "see you later," and turned back to her own friends with the slightest sigh. Well, excellence in potions-brewing didn't necessarily translate into any other good character traits, and maybe it was too much to expect Pansy to act like a friend right away. And if Hermione were to be honest with herself, she really had no idea what the other girl's motives were; they could be far from friendly.

She tapped her foot a bit impatiently. Harry and Ron were conferring with Professor Slughorn about an extended loan of their Potions supplies, until their orders came through from Diagon Alley. And after they were done there, she would have to wait even longer, while they packed up their things and cleaned off their half of the table, which was an unholy mess, as though they had endeavored to spill as many different things in as many different places as possible. _Boys._

Partly to pass the time, and partly out of curiosity, she went over to the table where Professor Slughorn had put out the sample potions. She walked along the table, inspecting them, and was immediately arrested by the Amortentia bubbling innocently away in its cauldron.

She had encountered this potion once before, on her first trip to Diagon Alley with her parents, on which she had pulled them into every single shop. This included a high-end apothecary which had a cauldron of the stuff out, sitting in a display of tiny red bottles that had cost an obscene number of Galleons each. Then, it had smelled strangely familiar, and had drawn her in with a scent like freshly cut grass, and books, and parchment.

But this time, it smelled _different_. Theoretically, she knew that the smell of Amortentia would appear to change to any given witch or wizard as he or she matured – it could certainly not be expected for one to be attracted by the same things at age four as at age fourteen – but it was another thing entirely to experience the difference in real life.

This potion smelled _better_ than it had before, first of all – she had the urge to just lean over the cauldron and take in huge, gulping breaths of it – and the scent itself was different, too. She could pick out the scent of the air after a thunderstorm, and of books again, and under it all, the heady scent of something like flower petals that was velvety and a deep, dark, purple. She started at that last idea – how was it possible for something to _smell_ purple? – and found, not surprisingly, that she had begun to lean in the direction of the cauldron.

She quickly withdrew, flushing slightly, but no one had seen her. Harry and Ron were at their table, cleaning it up, though it looked like they were arguing far more than necessary over who had spilled what. Hermione wandered down the table, and peered into the other cauldrons with a more academic interest, trying to commit all the visible details to memory and file them away for later reference, should there ever be a need.

Harry and Ron eventually finished at their table, and came by and collected her on their way out. As soon as they had left the room, they resumed their argument with her from that morning (which they had picked up again between classes, to her dismay), as though Potions had never intervened.

Hermione really wished that they would just lay off.

And their arguments weren't even coherent anymore.

"But a _Slytherin_, Hermione! Snape's their head of house, don't forget – _Snape_!"

Hermione just narrowed her eyes and kept walking, trying to ignore Harry. Neither of them had found any new points to bring up since the beginning of the argument; Harry was still trying to convince her that all Slytherins were evil, and Ron still couldn't get over the fact of Pansy's femaleness.

Ron started spluttering incoherently at that moment, as though he had heard Hermoine's thoughts. "But – but – Pansy….and you – and you're a girl too!" was what he came out with in the end.

"Yes_, I know_, and I don't see why it should make a difference." Hermione found herself growing increasingly irritable.

Ron was completely baffled by this answer. "But, Hermione, you didn't even have to accept her offer – I don't care about principles or whatever; that doesn't even enter into it here - she's a _girl;_ that's just not _normal, _what she asked you! You don't have to do it!"

Hermione stopped in her tracks and whirled on him. "Ronald Weasley! That is the most intolerant, prejudiced, _pure-blooded_ thing that I have _ever_ heard come out of your mouth!"

Ron stumbled back a step, and opened and closed his mouth several times. If he hadn't already been dark red in the face, he probably would have flushed more.

She rounded on Harry next. "And you! Trust is a two-way street; or did no one ever impart that little piece of wisdom to you? Of course we can never expect to find a trustworthy Slytherin if we're not willing to give them a bit of trust in turn!" She took a step back so that she could regard both Harry and Ron at once. "I don't expect either of you to _support_ my choice; clearly you both have some work to do before that's even conceivable. But I don't think it's too much to ask for you to just _respect_ my decision here, or at the very least, keep your criticisms to yourself until something bad has actually happened." She stared them down until they closed their mouths. "This topic is closed for discussion until you have something _new_ to say," she stated in a tone that brokered no argument. "If I hear one more 'but she's a Slytherin' or 'but she's a girl' from either of you, I swear I'll –"

Hermione was surprised to find that her hand was tightly grasping her wand in her pocket, as though making ready to pull it. She forced herself to breathe and relaxed her grip, and then whirled around and strode off to class without saying another word.

Ron and Harry followed her in equally stony silence, but probably more out of fear then a genuine wish to stop arguing.

They managed to slip into the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom just as Snape was closing the door, resulting in a deduction of quite a few points from Gryffindor and muted giggles from around the room. They were apparently sharing the class with the Slytherins.

Hermione did not attempt to sit with Harry and Ron; they made a point of taking seats in the back of the room, about as far away from her as they could get. Instead, she slipped into an empty front-row seat between Pansy Parkinson and Dean Thomas.

"_Boys,_" Hermione spat, to no one in particular, as she got her copy of their textbook out of her bag and slammed it on the desk with a little more force than necessary.

"Oh, I _know_," said Pansy, to her surprise. "They're impossible, aren't they?"

Hermione could only roll her eyes and nod in response, because Snape looked about ready to tell her off again. But she felt an unexpected kinship with the Slytherin rising up. Maybe Pansy wasn't so bad, after all – her company might be _tolerable_, at least. Then Hermione told herself to be reasonable. The other girl had agreed with one thing she said, and she was ready to base her entire opinion off that? She would have to wait until she had more to go on to make judgments like that.

And, almost as proof that Hermione had judged too fast, she looked over and saw that the margins of other girl's notebook page were entirely filled with little drawings – was she even paying attention to the lecture at all?

Hermione shook her head and turned back to her own notes. And what she had said earlier – that wasn't exactly the deepest comment one could have made in the situation. In fact, she was sure that Lavender Brown would have said the same exact thing. Bad mood thus preserved, Hermione happily ignored everyone else for the remainder of the class, and involved herself in a loud conversation with Dean as soon as the period was over.

She ate with a rather baffled Dean and his friends at lunch, and feigned much more knowledge of Quidditch than she really possessed, and pretended not to see the lazily inquisitive face looking at her from across the hall, or the two sullen ones shooting her glances from down the table. She pretended not to see the glares, and went on eating her lunch as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Hermione wasn't avoiding her friends. She was just…giving them space.

-) U C (-


	4. Research, Project

A/N Soooo I'm not too sure about this one - felt like I wasn't quite getting across what I wanted to, in some places - but I was really tired and I know that if I don't post it before I nap, then I never will. Fie on all homework, that preventeth me from having infinite rewriting time. Anyway, sorry if there are typos and stuff because I posted it kind of quicker than usual, and let me know if it sucks, ok? Feedback like that is very valuable.

3. Research, Project

Neither Harry nor Ron had attempted to sit with Hermione during meals that whole week; they looked as though they had resolved to avoid her indefinitely rather than give up and apologize. Which was just as well as far as she was concerned; if it was their free choice to look like a pair of asses for as long as possible, she would respect that. And it wasn't as though she needed them to keep her social life afloat; today, for example, she sat with Neville and had a quite stimulating conversation about his ideas for an independent project with Professor Sprout that term.

Sixth Years who had achieved more than nine O.W.L.'s were encouraged to take private lessons with a professor of their choice, given that the professor approved of their intended plan of study and agreed to have them on. Hermione was sure that Professor Sprout would be thrilled to have Neville as an independent-study student, and expressed as much to him, causing him to simultaneously beam at her and drop his fork.

"You really think so? Wow, thanks, Hermione, that means a lot…"

Hermione rolled her eyes but reassured him that yes, she really had meant it, and hoped that one day he would learn a bit more self-confidence.

Hermione had considered applying for private lessons herself, but in the end she had decided to continue on with too many of her classes to really allow time for it, and besides, she would never have been able to decide which professor to approach. The lessons were really intended for those who already knew their field of specialty and wanted to get an early start on more advanced work, and Hermione was far from sure about her career path after Hogwarts.

It did peeve her though, when she thought about it – the missed opportunity for learning. If she could have applied for a time-turner again, she would have, but as it was, she just had to keep convincing herself that a rigorous course of general study really was the best choice at this point.

And while she was at admitting things to herself, it did peeve her that Harry and Ron still weren't talking to her. She hadn't meant to estrange her best friends by deciding to go out with the Slytherin girl, and it often seemed like a cruel tradeoff to make. If she hadn't been so sure that she was in the right and they were completely wrong, she might have even considered going back on her decision. She was glad that this would all be over soon, and eventually forgotten, and then hopefully they would come around.

Thoughts of the date were only welcome when they involved it being done and over with. Any other thoughts left her feeling woefully unprepared – Hermione didn't think that anything she had done with Viktor counted as a formal date, and since then, no one had ever bothered to ask her on one. More than that, she knew next to nothing about Pansy herself – if, in all fairness, hostile encounters were to be discounted (Hermione knew that little real information could be gleaned about _herself_ from fights with the Slytherins) – and she felt that she should avoid making it a blind date for herself if she could help it. Anything she could learn beforehand would be to her benefit.

With this in mind, she vowed to head for the library as soon as she had some free time. The sooner she got started, the better.

-) U C (-

"…And she wants me to wear sky blue dress robes – _sky blue_! And you should see the way they're cut; I told her there was no way she was making me wear that…" Millicent turned over on her bed and picked at a corner of sheet. It might look like she was in a foul mood, but Pansy knew that she actually loved these late-night sessions of "girl talk," as she called it.

"Mmm-hmm," Pansy agreed absently, reaching over and snagging Millicent's unguarded bottle of nail polish. She might as well have something to do with her hands as she listened.

She checked the color – a dark, mossy green, predictably. Millicent had a thing against pale colors, and also against bright ones. She also objected to clothing which made her look "lumpy," (though Pansy could have told her that it didn't depend much on the clothing), which helped to explain her particularly vehement dislike for her sister's choice in bridesmaids' robes.

Pansy uncapped the small bottle and began to paint her toenails as Millicent continued; the color complemented Pansy's complexion rather well, she thought. Maybe she would manage to accidentally forget to return it.

"And then my mum and dad backed her up! They said that I have to go along with whatever she chooses, because it's her wedding and she's the _oldest_. I _hate_ my parents sometimes!"

"Oh, god, I know. I hate my parents too." Pansy lied effortlessly, and Millicent didn't question what she had expected to hear.

In fact, Pansy didn't hate her parents, nor love them – she wasted as little care over them as they for her. They could die in the first battle of the war, and she wouldn't lose any sleep. She had never heard them express an equivalent sentiment for her, but actions spoke louder than words. And hadn't they joined the Dark Lord's ranks as Death Eaters just last spring? Pansy didn't need a clearer sign of their utter disregard for her, their only child.

The Parkinsons were a family that went back, far back, like someone's eccentric but hugely wealthy great aunt. No one quite knew what to think of her, and they avoid bringing her up in conversation if they could, but they all knew she had managed to manipulate each of them into a position to her convenience, without quite knowing how. The Parkinsons liked to exert their power in the behind-of-things, when no one was quite looking. It was so much more dignified. And effective, if getting your way was more important than putting on a show. They had been around before the Malfoys, or Blacks, or Gaunts, and would continue on for centuries afterwards – if Pansy's parents hadn't seen fit to step in and muck everything up.

The Parkinsons were steady. Where other families swung in the balance or dwindled out, the Parkinsons only grew, and where other families were debtors, Parkinsons were creditors. When you've been around for hundreds of years and have full vaults the size of houses in Gringotts and every other Wizarding bank, things tend to go your way. And if some relative somewhere far back in the line married someone of questionable blood status, or for questionable motives – well, it was simple to smooth these things over after the fact. The oldest families knew they were the rulers of Wizarding Britain, and the Parkinsons were one of the greatest of these.

Were. The word tasted sour in Pansy's mouth. She had been brought up to take pride in her family name, brought up that way by the very two people who were now in the process of betraying it. Pansy had heard all the stories from them, again and again – a Parkinson never allied with Dark or Light; she trod a path in the gray area between them where true power dwelt, and independence. And the Parkinsons had been so quietly gray-powerful for so long, by treading exactly this path. A Parkinson didn't need a Lord to champion her cause; she _was_ the cause. As far as Pansy was concerned, her parents had ceased to be Parkinsons the moment that they swore allegiance to the Dark Lord.

He would use them up and spit them out, feeding them on empty promises the whole time. They would not win, if he won, and if he lost, they would spend the rest of their days in Azkaban or worse. The right thing to do would be never to get involved at all, to stay safe and forgotten, work behind the scenes and not in the battlefield. Pansy wondered sometimes what he had told her parents to make them forget all this. Promises? Threats? In any case, it didn't matter; he would fail and pass away as all Lords did in the end. What mattered was the mistake that had been made.

And Pansy didn't hate them for it; for it is impossible to hate something which is entirely beneath one's notice. For in that moment, she had realized that she would do whatever it took to restore her family's name, to restore the Parkinson line to its rightful place in the wizarding world. And for all that her parents couldn't help her with this, they could hardly do any more to hurt her. She had been raised to do maintenance, but the best groundskeeper must pull up and rebuild a garden if her predecessors plant weeds in it.

Pansy reached beneath her pillow and rolled her list-covered parchment fondly between her fingers. It contained all her plans for her future, such as they were at this point. Yes, she would achieve her goals by any means necessary – no person, thing, or principle was more important to her, and she would not hesitate to use any of those that fell at her disposal if they proved useful for her plans. And right now, a certain Gryffindor was appearing very useful to her plans, indeed.

The Slytherin in her purred. Gryffindor-using was such a higher calling than Gryffindor-baiting. Stupid and loud though they were, in the right hands, they could be good for so much more than mere amusement. Although, if Pansy could have a bit of fun without expense to her greater project, she wasn't one to turn it down. Out of all the Gryffindors, Granger seemed so easy to toy with. Pansy might even be a little disappointed if she didn't enjoy herself.

"Why are you smiling?" Millicent's words cut into her thoughts.

She stuck out her tongue and turned back to her toes. "As if I'd tell you." Her tone was sarcastic, but not humorless. Let Millicent assume she was thinking about her latest tryst with Malfoy, or something equally inconsequential.

That was the other great thing about being a Parkinson – as long as you were doing your part for the family line, it didn't matter how you portrayed yourself. Who was going to remember how so-and-so Parkinson behaved so long as the line continued on, grand and unbroken, for five hundred years after her death? No one, that's who. Hell, it was almost expected. Pansy could be whoever she wanted to be, as long as it allowed Miss Parkinson to do what she needed to do.

For now, though, humoring Millicent was growing tiresome, so Pansy cast an instant-drying charm on her toenails and flopped down on the bed, facing the toward the wall.

"I'm going to sleep now," she informed the wall. She was sure that Millicent was shooting her a hurt look thinly disguised as a glare behind her back, but all she did was spell her bed curtains shut and put her wand beneath her pillow. Millicent didn't need for Pansy to notice these looks; she would go on wanting to be Pansy's friend no matter what Pansy did.

-) U C (-

The light was golden and slanting through the tall windows of the library when Ginny showed up and plopped into a seat next to Hermione at the table where she had her books spread out.

"Hey you! What're you up to?" Ginny looked like she had spent most of the day outside; Hermione felt a flash of regret that she had spent the whole day indoors on what might have been the last warm Saturday of the season.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," Hermione said, smiling. She was truly glad to see the younger Weasley; their schedules had kept them apart for most of the week so far. "I'm just doing some research on, you know…"

Ginny peered under one of the open books and read off the title in tones of high incredulity. "'A Concise History of the Most Noble and Pure-Blooded Families of Britain?' What is _that_ for?"

Hermione blushed and mumbled something. Luckily, Ginny had gotten distracted by the massive tome in front of her.

"Hey, I wonder if we're in here…" She began paging through the volume, in blatant disregard for the place that Hermione had had it open to.

Having come across the section already, Hermione was able to supply the answer. "Yeah, there is a section on the Weasleys in there, but it says that the family has done 'little of note' in more than one hundred years. And this was published in…uh…1803," she said, a bit apologetically.

Ginny laughed and gave up looking through the book. "Well, that probably means that no one I know is in there, anyway." She looked up at Hermione. "So what are you really doing with all these?" She gestured to the other books on the table, which were all Pureblood histories and registries.

Hermione blushed again. "Well, you know that Pansy Parkinson asked me out on a date for next Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, so that's what it is?" Ginny's eyes lit up. "The whole school knows that there's something big going on between Gryffindors and Slytherins, but everyone is saying something different. So how did that happen, anyway? And why didn't you tell me right away?" Ginny grinned and gave Hermione's shoulder a gentle shove.

"Wait – you're not mad at me?"

Ginny's face grew puzzled. "No, why?"

With a great sense of relief, Hermione told the whole story, ending with Ron and Harry's objections and resultant estrangement from her.

"Aw, Hermione!" Ginny's response was muffled because she had flung herself of her chair and wrapped the other girl in a hug, burying her face in her shoulder.

Hermione hugged her back, gratefully. "You're really not mad at me, then?" she asked when they pulled apart. "I mean, I know the boys are just being stupid, but I thought it might be a little too optimistic to expect anyone else to agree…"

"Well, I can't say I would have done the same exact thing as you, in that situation, but I can see why you did it. And I agree with you that we shouldn't give up on the idea of inter-house unity so easily, until we've at least tried it."

Hermione beamed.

"And as for her being a girl…well, Ron's just being an idiot again. I think it's brilliant."

Hermione crooked an eyebrow.

"I've never known anyone who did that! Well, not personally. Promise to tell me _everything_ that happens, ok? This is just so exciting…Oh, and it will be so good for your social life, too, Hermione. You definitely don't get out enough." Ginny added this last in a motherly tone, as though to prove that she wasn't supporting Hermione's dating experiment _solely_ out of self-interested curiosity.

Hermione chose to ignore that part. "I guess I just didn't expect this reaction…I thought if you didn't agree with Harry and Ron, then you'd probably assume that this means I'm gay, and be hurt that I'd let you find out like this, instead of telling you earlier."

Hermione was rewarded with a blank stare. "What do you mean, _gay_?"

"I didn't think it could be just a Muggle thing…a gay person is someone who's interested in their own sex, you know, instead of the opposite sex like straight people. And usually you wouldn't even go out with someone of the same sex if you weren't gay, I mean, what's the point?"

Ginny frowned slightly as she processed this. "It must be just a Muggle thing; you're right. In the wizarding world, people might take a lover of the same sex as them, _sometimes_, but it's not like that makes them a different kind of person or anything. And even if they do, they're usually not so open about it. So…you're…not gay?" Ginny hazarded.

"No, I'm not. I'm definitely not going out with Pansy for romantic reasons, nor with any other girl for that matter…"

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "So you mean there really are girls who only ever want to get involved with other girls? And never guys?"

"Well, yeah, of course. And I bet they exist in the Wizarding world too, only you lot keep them too repressed to ever dare talk about it!"

Ginny pretended to take offence at this, but then became more serious. "About Pansy and you - promise me that if you two ever have problems, or you just want to talk, you'll come to me. I'll always be there for you, honestly."

"I –" Hermione choked. "What makes you think this is going to be any kind of long-term thing? We're only going out on one date, for Merlin's sake!"

Ginny just sat back and smiled knowingly, and wouldn't say another word until Hermione had promised that yes, if she ever had anything at all to talk about, that she would come to Ginny with it.

"So, what _is _all this for, anyway?" Ginny asked of the books. Clearly, she had not been that easily distracted from her earlier question after all.

"I thought I'd just find some background information on her family's history. I really know nothing about any of the pureblooded families, and I just thought that it might be good to know some of the basics, going in…Just so I don't accidentally make a total fool of myself, you know…"

Ginny looked like she was biting back a giggle, but kindly held back whatever comment she had thought of to make her laugh. "So, did you learn anything interesting? I don't really know much about the Parkinsons, either."

"What do you know?" Hermione asked, out of curiosity.

"Only that they were suspected of supporting you-know-who last time, but managed to stay out of trouble for it," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose.

Hermione nodded. "Historically, they've actually seemed to avoid siding with either Dark or Light Lords; I've only found mention of three formal alliances with a Lord in the history of the family, and those were all during the middle ages…" she flipped through her notebook. "William Parkinson was actually among the founders of the Ministry of Magic in the eighteenth century, and members of the family have occasionally held various high positions in the Ministry since then…They actually seem to have stayed out of the Grindelwald war entirely; don't know how they managed that…that man spouted more pureblood supremacy rhetoric than the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and he seems to have swayed most every old family that wasn't formally allied with the Light…"

Ginny smiled and waited for her friend to wind down. "It looks like you'll do fine; I doubt she's going to spend the whole date quizzing you on her family."

Hermione stayed in the library for another hour after Ginny left, but didn't manage to find anything else significant, except for a passing mention in a stained and crumbling volume of a "gift most Darke which does pass down on the distaff side of this prestigious and pure Family," which she dismissed offhand. Every account she had read had been peppered with rumors of powerful ancient artifacts or unique magical gifts possessed by one family or another, probably started by the families themselves to boost their own perceived standing.

-) U C (-

The last few days until the fateful Hogsmeade weekend were full ones for Hermione, with classes and studying occupying most of her time. Although she had a number of classes with Pansy, they had never been able to exchange more than the quick "hi" or wave before their respective sets of friends swept them off in different directions.

These interactions always left Hermione a bit off balance. She had never been in a situation like this before; on one hand, the two girls hardly knew each other, but on the other hand, they had promised to see each other on a date, which made it seem ridiculous to ignore each other in the halls as they had always done. It was as though their plans for the weekend had suddenly injected an extra level of intimacy into their acquaintance.

Which acquaintance until this point had consisted mostly of mutual glares while their friends were fighting, the occasional obligatory insult after a particularly bad fight, and, outside of fights, had consisted of nothing at all.

By the time that the night before the fateful Hogsmeade trip arrived, Hermione felt like she had been kept hanging in suspense for months rather than just over two weeks, and she was a basket of nerves. She just wanted it _over_ with. Ginny had tried alternately to distract and reassure her while they were sitting in the common room in the evening, but it had done more for Hermione's opinion of Ginny as a good friend than it had for her nerves.

Lying in bed that night, Hermione couldn't keep her mind off it. Endless questions, uncertainties, and worst-case scenarios kept running through her head, no matter how she tried to stop them. _What will happen tomorrow is simply going to happen, no matter _what_ you think about right now_, she chastised her overactive brain, but it wasn't convinced. Rationally, she knew that all of the worst-case scenarios were ridiculous – the worst that could happen is that she would be subjected to an hour or two of Pansy's company – and that she had literally done the best she could to prepare herself. But rationality had little effect on irrational worries, and in the end she gave up trying to stop them.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that all this uncertainty would definitely come to an end tomorrow; it had to, unless Pansy rescheduled at the last minute – she quickly pulled her brain away from imagining _that_ dreadful scenario. Until then, she would just have to be patient. It wasn't _too_ long to wait. And with this, she rolled over in her bed and was blessedly claimed by sleep.

-) U C (-


	5. Rendezvous

This is going up early since I have a ton of work coming up, and wanted to get it out of the way pre-emptively. Also, because my beta is good to me and works fast! (Thanks, Ogis!) The next one should be up two weeks from_ now_, not from when this should have gone up - so, the Wednesday after next. Cheers!

Oh, and thanks so much for everyone's reviews so far! I loved every single one of them :) And if I somehow haven't replied to yours, hunt me down...I assure you, it was unintentional if it happened!

4. Rendez-vous

The entrance hall was filling up as students milled around, waiting to get past Filch's station at the doors. Everyone seemed to have decided to leave for Hogsmeade right after breakfast – it was the type of bright, mild day that made everyone want to take full advantage of it – and the trickle of students that Filch was allowing out one-by-one did nothing to alleviate the growing crowd within.

Hermione stepped out of the way and hugged herself tighter as a group of seventh-year Hufflepuff boys jostled past her, clearly hoping to make it to the front of the growing queue ahead of everyone.

"I don't see why he has to check us now," Ginny whined. "Shouldn't they be more worried about us bringing Dark things _into_ the school than out of it?"

Hermione heard Neville agreeing, but she wasn't really paying that much attention. Her case of nerves had not really abated, and it was making prolonged concentration a bit difficult. The slight case of sleep deprivation she was suffering from didn't help, either. Her night's sleep had been interrupted by absurd dreams, and she had woken up at first light – she had discovered this morning that at this time of year, the sun rose at precisely the right angle to Gryffindor Tower to send beams of light lancing through the window to hit her bed. Beams of painfully bright, hot, rousing light, to be exact.

And then she had proceeded to over-think every last decision she had to make – should she get up now, or close her curtains and try to get a bit more sleep so she wouldn't be tired later? She had taken a shower yesterday - if she washed her hair again this morning, would that make it look too frizzy? Or was it starting to look noticeably dirty already? What should she wear? She didn't want to be sending any unconscious signals with her choice of clothes, after all. Should she wake up Ginny and borrow some of her makeup? (After all, didn't girls generally wear makeup on dates?) Should she have checked some of those books out of the library so that she could give them a last-minute look-over now?

In the end, she opted for washing her hair (it was _always_ somewhat frizzy; avoiding dirtiness was definitely more important), wearing regular school robes (what had she been thinking? Everyone wore school robes here, all the time. That part of her brain must still be on "summer mode"…), and not opting for makeup, which she never wore regularly, and which for all she knew would look silly on her face. And again, it wasn't like this was a _date_ date. She had no reason to try to impress Pansy with her looks. Still restless after she was all ready, she double-checked the note that Pansy had owled her a few days ago. Yes, it still instructed her to meet Pansy at eleven o'clock in Madam Puddifoot's – as though she would have forgotten what it said, after nervously checking it so many times last night.

Finding that it was still more than an hour before breakfast started, she went down to the common room and worked on some Arithmancy problems – definitely the most boring and mechanical piece of homework she had to do, and hopefully something that would take her mind off the date.

It had worked to some degree, and after all the problems were done and triple-checked she had been able to go down with Ginny and Neville for breakfast and keep up reasonably normal conversation without fidgeting in her seat too much. She had found it hard to pay attention, though, and it was only getting worse now.

She looked over and saw Harry and Ron standing not far away, chatting with each other comfortably. They had their backs to her, so she couldn't see their faces, but they didn't look bothered in the slightest to be going to Hogsmeade just the pair of them. And it had always been something the three of them did together, ever since third year…

Hermione looked away. She was _not_ going to get all sentimental about this now.

Her eyes came to rest on a small group of Slytherins standing on the other side of the entrance hall, near to the hallway that led to the dungeons. Pansy's dark eyes caught her own and Hermione had to look away again, slightly embarrassed. Had Pansy been staring at her? For how long? Hermione pretended to pay attention to Ginny and Neville's conversation, but she couldn't shake the temptation to glance up and see if Pansy was still staring at her.

Hermione swore she could feel a prickling on the back of her neck; she just had to see – her head jerked toward the other side of the room without asking her permission, and yes, Pansy was still staring at her. The Slytherin was leaning against a column with her arms folded over her chest, seemingly above the conversation going on around her, just watching.

Hermione knew she had been seen this time, and defiantly met Pansy's eyes. Well, if Pansy was staring there was no reason Hermione couldn't stare too. What did she think she'd do, make Hermione get flustered and turn away first? Pansy had managed to make Hermione flustered enough this morning without even trying; if she thought she was going to do it again, then she was sorely mistaken.

When Pansy saw that Hermione wasn't looking away, she arched an eyebrow. Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly, but still didn't look away, and Pansy seemed to relax against the column, looking smug. A tall Ravenclaw walked by and obstructed Hermione's view of the Slytherin, but when he passed, her gaze was still locked on Hermione. Hermione didn't even think she had blinked. When Draco Malfoy emerged from the corridor and touched Pansy's elbow, causing her to momentarily look away, Hermione felt strangely victorious.

On the other side of the room, Draco was talking into Pansy's ear in a low voice while she half-listened. His arrival had distracted her just long enough to glance away from Granger, and now the Gryffindor wasn't even looking at her anymore.

"When are you going to stop avoiding me, Pansy? I've been trying to have a word with you for days, but you keep slipping away."

Pansy gave up on Granger and turned her full attention to Draco.

"What do you mean?" She tilted her head to the side, as if puzzled. "I haven't been avoiding you, you just haven't been around is all. And if it's about the Granger thing, didn't we already talk about it?" She pretended that she didn't notice his hand still on her elbow. Of course she had been avoiding him, but things would go so much smoother if he believed otherwise.

Draco was good at hiding his emotions, but not that good. Pansy had known him for a while, and she could tell that he was gritting his teeth in frustration now. "No, we never talked about that. You _said_ we would talk about it, and then started avoiding me. It's not the same thing as talking. Look, just tell me what you think you're doing here. You can't get away this time."

Pansy adopted a hurt expression. "Now why would you think I want to get away from you, Draco?" she asked, pouting slightly and moving to rest one hand lightly on his chest. "I would never. Why don't you ever believe me?"

"I just –" Draco started.

"Oooooh, is Draco jealous of the Mudblood?" she crooned, making puppy-dog eyes at him. It was so convenient the way their height difference allowed her to look up through her eyelashes without even trying when they were this close.

"No, I'm not _jealous_ of her, don't be ridiculous. I just want to make sure you're not making a mistake…" Draco seemed to be leaning into her without realizing that he was doing it, and she congratulated herself on yet another successful use of her feminine wiles. She hazarded a glance toward the other end of the room, and saw that Granger and her friends were next in line to be checked. As if alerted to Pansy's gaze by an extra sense, Granger looked her way, and Pansy quickly shifted and drew Draco behind the column with her, so that it mostly shielded them from Granger's view. Speaking of jealousy, it probably wouldn't be strategic to let her see Pansy acting this way around Draco now.

"We can talk about this later if you still want to, ok? Now's not the best time," she whispered into his ear, since he was still pulled rather close to her. She thought she could feel him tremble a little – pathetic, really; she wasn't even trying.

"Ok," he agreed. "Meet me in the three broomsticks, after."

She stepped away, and could see that he was smirking. She fluttered her eyelashes at him again in a sickening manner, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Ok, I'll see you then!" When he didn't move away, she nudged him. "Uh, Draco, it might not be good if she sees us together like this…" She gave him a _don't ruin the joke_ look, and he reluctantly removed himself from her personal space.

He made to walk with her on the road to the village too, but she warned him off with several pointed looks, since Granger and her pathetic-looking friends were walking not far ahead. Since when had he gotten so possessive? Usually _she_ was the one hanging on _him_. Or pretending to, at the very least, which amounted to the same thing. And he usually put on a good show of arrogantly tolerating her adoration, as though he expected no less. But lately, things had been different...he hadn't been around as much, and she had been too wrapped up in other things to worry about putting on a constant Pansy loves Draco show. She would have to be more attentive in the future, if she didn't want to commit some mistake, somewhere, without knowing it.

-) U C (-

Hermione's nerves hadn't let up the whole time she was wandering around Hogsmeade with Ginny and Neville. She was vaguely aware that they were trying to include her in their conversation, and that Neville had offered to get her a pack of Sugar Quills when they were in Honeydukes, but she couldn't seem to pay attention. In any case, there was a vague churning sensation in her stomach that gave her the idea that candy was not the best idea right now. She was glad when the clock on the wall of the Three Broomsticks, where they had finally ended up, read quarter of eleven, and she could excuse herself.

"Oh, are you going to - ?" Ginny asked, her eyes round with anticipation. Hermione nodded, and Ginny squeezed her hand. "Good luck! It'll be over before you know it! And remember you have to tell me _everything._ Now go, or you'll be late!"

Hermione went, saying her goodbyes to Ginny and a slightly confused-looking Neville. Once outside, she took several deep breaths of the crisp autumn air – it really was a gorgeous day – and tried to still herself. By this time the feeling in her stomach had spread to produce a restless unease in most of her body, and it was all she could do not to break out into a run – in which direction she wasn't quite sure. However, Hermione Granger was not one to run from a problem, so she took one more breath and headed determinedly down the road to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

A bell tinkled as she pushed open the door of the quaint little tea shop. She crossed the threshold and the door swung shut behind her with another tinkle and a muted thump, and it was as though she had left all her nerves on the other side, cut off from her now by the door. The unease drained out of her limbs, and her mind cleared entirely for what seemed like the first time that day. She was here now, and there was nothing more she could do. It was time to do this thing, and get it done. She remarked coolly that this was the same thing that happened to her with a big exam – all the nerves were transformed into a calm focus on the task ahead.

Another step into the tea shop allowed her to scan the place for signs of Pansy, who should be meeting her there, if the note was to be believed. Hermione batted away the idea that this might have all been some kind of elaborate set-up. Of course it wasn't. The room was populated with a scattering of couples, but the cherubs that Harry had mentioned seeing on his last visit were thankfully absent. Perhaps they were a special Valentine's day feature only. None of the couples appeared to contain Pansy, however, and Hermione was just casting a Tempus charm (it was six minutes to eleven; she must have been walking very fast indeed) when Pansy materialized at her shoulder.

"Oh, you're early!" Pansy smiled. "I got us a table already."

Hermione smiled back and followed Pansy to a table that was set in one of the many random corners that the odd-shaped room seemed to containl, and partially shielded from the rest of the room by a large artificial plant with artificial bluebirds flitting around the leafy branches.

"Oh, no wonder why I didn't see you sooner," Hermione commented as she sat down, looking around. "Cozy, isn't it?"

Pansy grinned as she took the other seat. "I thought it would be nice if we didn't have half the students of Hogwarts coming in and staring at us the whole time we're here."

Hermione nodded agreement, and then backed up her chair surreptitiously, hoping Pansy wouldn't notice. The round table was truly tiny, and with both of the chairs pushed in all the way there was a very real danger of bumping knees. Pansy caught her doing it, though, and then, to Hermione's infinite surprise, pushed her own chair out a couple of inches. And then opened the frilly menu lying on the table and began to consult it as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"What're you having?" Pansy said, presently.

"Oh, just tea, I thought." Hermione said a bit uncertainly.

Pansy looked up from her menu. "I thought we might have an early lunch instead – I mean, tea is so quick, and we'd have to eat after anyway." She smiled innocently. "Unless you're really not hungry, or have somewhere to be later –"

"No, I don't have anywhere to be. Early lunch would be fine." Hermione smiled back, and turned to her own menu.

After some deliberation, they agreed to share an assorted platter of sandwiches, and Hermione ordered a salad for herself, to accompany the sandwiches. On cue, a waitress decked in a completely ridiculous pink-and-blue frilly outfit slid past the plant with a tray of tea things, which Pansy had obviously ordered before Hermione arrived, and began setting them out. After they were set, she pulled out a petit wand and vanished the tray, and took their orders in an entirely too-cheerful way, before disappearing behind the plant herself. Hermione was beginning to see how this place could grate on one's nerves, but at least it was a nice change from the Three Broomsticks. And she didn't mind the privacy.

Pansy picked up her cup and sipped it unhurriedly. Hermione did the same, and then noticed the untouched milk and sugar dishes on the table. "You don't like anything in your tea?"

"No," said Pansy, taking another sip. "I usually like it black."

"Me too," said Hermione, and then felt foolish about the obviousness of her remark. Would she have been drinking it that way if she didn't like it?

Silence fell. Hermione had the feeling that Pansy was looking at her, but kept her eyes riveted on the tea in her cup. Somehow engaging in a staring contest across a crowded room was entirely different from gazing into one another's eyes across a tiny table in a tea shop.

Hermione picked up the delicately filigreed teaspoon that was sitting at her place and stirred her tea. The silence grew longer. She selected an equally delicate-looking biscuit from the china plate that the waitress had left them, and slowly chewed it, in silence. Pansy, for her part, seemed perfectly content to just sip her tea and watch Hermione from across the table.

Finally growing frustrated, Hermione took a stab at starting conversation. "So, how was your summer?"

"It was pretty good, all things considered. How was yours?" Pansy's tone was cordial. Hermione felt that they were just playing at being on a date, and that no one had told her her role ahead of time. Or that Pansy had started the game, and was just humoring her while Hermione figured out the rules.

"It was nice," said Hermione. She wanted to ask what the "things considered" were that had kept Pansy's summer from being unreservedly good, but she felt it was most tactful to stay away from it. If Ginny was right, then the Parkinsons were probably involved with Voldemort somehow, and the last thing she needed was to bring up something so politically touchy. Hermione thought it would be best to keep things simple.

Silence fell again, though it apparently did not discomfort Pansy in the slightest. She was regarding Hermione with faintly amused interest again.

"So, did you, uh... go anywhere – interesting, over the summer?" Hermione told herself to stop starting sentences with 'so;' it sounded stilted and awkward.

"No," she said, and Hermione was afraid that silence was going to overtake them once again, but then she continued. "I mean, not really. We did go somewhere – we always take a holiday – but it wasn't _interesting_."

"Oh?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Poland," Pansy volunteered in a disdainful tone, as if this explained everything.

"Do you have relatives there?"

"Not exactly – some distant relatives of my mother's left her a country house there, so she thinks it's the perfect place to holiday. Even though it's deadly dull, actually." Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I mean, it's in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town is like, five miles away, and there's nothing in it. Just muggles. And the muggles don't have anything interesting there, either. And I don't speak Polish."

Hermione giggled despite herself. "That does sound kind of dreadful," she agreed, trying and succeeding to fight down another giggle. "I mean, that's – I'm sorry you had to deal with it. My parents decided not to take a family holiday this summer; they wanted a second honeymoon." Pansy's eyes, (which from this distance looked like a shade of murky hazel, Hermione noticed), took on an envious glint. Hermione continued, "And they sent me to _arts camp_ while they were away, as though I were still a little child. I mean, honestly. Well, it was technically a residential summer arts program at the university, but still – just because it was the only one happening when they wanted to go doesn't mean it was a good idea to leave me there. They could have let me stay at home. At least it wasn't theater camp…" Hermione trailed off. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

"I don't mind! I would have loved to go to an arts program," said Pansy with a smile and another flash of envy that was quickly hidden. "But my parents would never let me do anything like that, so…"

Hermione quickly interpreted "something like that" with "something muggle", but still couldn't reconcile her own image of Pansy with someone who longed to spend weeks at a time among muggles, doing pointless art and 'team-building exercises'. She was about to say so, when the waitress sidled up from around the plant again and started clearing the tea things off their table, replacing them with their lunch. She distributed the various plates, seeing fit to name each one in a simpering voice as she did so. By the time she had gone, the thread of the conversation had been quite thoroughly lost.

Pansy picked up the silver tongs that came with the sandwiches and started serving herself some. They were all very tiny, cut into fanciful shapes, and seemed to be composed of varying kinds of pâtés garnished with frilly greens, on varying colors of bread. Pansy stopped when she had six or seven on her plate, and began to eat. Hermione took the cue and tucked into her dainty plate of salad, hoping that Pansy would be the one restart the conversation this time. After all, she _had _been the one to ask Hermione out. The silence was so annoying, though, and it was begging to be filled...

Before she had a chance to exercise restraint, however, Hermione's mouth seemed to take over for her, and between bites of salad, she blurted out, "Did the women in your family really have a dark gift? I read that they did, and –" Hermione stopped, mortified. Why, of all the things she could have said, had her mouth chosen this?

But Pansy looked up and smiled a smile that was very nearly a smirk. "Where did you read that?"

Hermione blushed, and recited the name of the book.

"Hmmmm…and it said we had some dark gift?" She inflected _had _and _dark_ as though the words contained some subtle irony.

Hermione nodded. Pansy grinned. "Well, they weren't right at all, then – it's not really dark, and we still have it…" Her voice dropped even lower. "Want to see?"

Hermione found herself leaning across her plate and speaking in the same hushed tone. "Really?"

Pansy nodded, and pushed her sleeve up almost ceremoniously. "Look," she said, and dropped her gaze to the hand she was holding out, palm up. Hermione didn't notice anything different at first, but then she saw it. What looked like small, translucent black flames were licking Pansy's fingertips, and as she watched, they grew, and began spreading down her fingers, leaving a darkly shining film of the flam-like substance on her skin in their wake. Pansy grinned and snapped her hand shut before the flames reached her palm, and Hermione fancied she could see them evaporating back into Pansy's skin like smoke. When she opened her fist, they had been extinguished without a trace.

"That – that was wandless magic!" was all Hermione could think to say.

Pansy nodded, looking immensely smug and self-satisfied. "Yeah. And they only said it was dark because of the way that it looks; it's really not. And it's not even always black; my mom's is sort of goldeny-brown - it just depends on your complexion. Just don't tell anyone about it though, ok? No one here knows that it even exists." Pansy had dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Yeah, of course I won't," Hermione agreed. She wanted to ask where it had come from, and what it was for, and how it worked, and what it _did,_ and a million other questions, but she felt this would be overstepping some invisible line. Pansy had already been generous enough to show her, after all, after Hermione had so clumsily broached the subject. And for all she knew it might lead her back to more dangerous subjects, which she wanted to avoid.

"So how do you like your classes so far?"

Pansy's abrupt subject change, coupled by the fact that Pansy had actually brought up a topic for the first time that morning, startled Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Oh, they're really good so far – I'm going on with everything except Care of Magical Creatures, and honestly, I couldn't pick a favorite…"

Pansy provided to be an avid listener, nodding and smiling and asking encouraging questions at all the right places, and Hermione felt herself growing increasingly at ease. So far, aside from some awkward silence at the beginning, it really hadn't been bad at all. In fact, Hermione was, against all expectation, enjoying herself.

She finished off her salad – which had been dressed in a rather tasty but too-sweet blackberry vinaigrette – and started in on what looked like a golden sandwich with purple lettuce, all the while chatting amiably with Pansy. They talked about classes, professors, O.W.L.'s – simple things, really, but Pansy turned out to be very easy to talk with when she wasn't fixed on playing staring games.

They got more tea when their lunch was gone, and Pansy suggested they get some dessert, to go with it. Hermione found herself laughing at the other girl's remarks, and no longer worrying about whether she was saying too much, or not enough, or the wrong thing. Hermione realized with a start that at some point, without her noticing, they had stopped playing the "on a date" game, and started talking like actual friends.

They had finished their tea and their desserts were reduced to crumbs when Pansy interrupted Hermione's story about the first time she brought Crookshanks home, to the detriment of all of her mother's potted plants, and a great portion of a new carpet as well.

"Hang on," she said, still with the edge of a laugh in her voice. "I have to check the time."

"Meeting someone later?" Hermione asked, checking the time herself.

"Yeah." Pansy looked apologetic. "You don't mind? I don't absolutely_ have_ to go –"

"No, it's fine, really," Hermione reassured her. "My friends are probably starting to wonder too; we have been here more than two hours. Let's just get the check."

At this, the waitress slid up, and Hermione wondered how she kept doing that. Some kind of listening charm, like the extendable ear, perhaps?

Hermione reached for the check, but Pansy grabbed her hand and stopped her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um, paying for my part?" Hermione tried to shift her hand out of under Pansy's so that she could read the bill.

Pansy let go of her hand, but managed to snag the bill. She was smirking again. "What makes you think you get to pay? I'm the one who asked _you_ out, after all. Traditionally, that means I expected to pay."

"That's not fair, though, I got more than you!" Hermione protested. "I ordered salad, and you didn't – if I had known you were going to try something like this, I wouldn't have –"

"Don't be silly." Pansy's tone was teasing, but very firm. "I insist. Splitting the bill is for third years, and similarly unrefined folk. And if I didn't want to pay for salad, I would have let you know when you were ordering it."

"But I-" Hermione started, but Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Fine!" Hermione exclaimed. This whole thing was beginning to feel absurd. "You can pay for both of us if it's so important to you. But it means that I'll have to pay next time; otherwise it won't be fair." She didn't even realize what she had said until the slow grin began spreading across Pansy's face.

"That sounds fair enough to me, Granger." And she withdrew a small drawstring sack from somewhere in her robes and placed a few coins from it on the bill. Hermione was frozen. What had she just _said_? _Next time_? She nervously wondered what she had meant and if it was too late to take it back. But no – that would just sound wrong. _"Oh, actually, Pansy, there won't be a next time – I just misspoke. Sorry!" _No, that would never do. She had as good as asked Pansy out, and she would have to go through with it. Why wasn't this the first time she had found her self in such a position?

"Shall we?" Pansy stood, still smiling widely. Hermione stood too, her legs feeling a little weak (from sitting for so long, she told herself. Not because she had just asked someone – Pansy! – out), and accompanied her out of the shop.

They seemed to be headed back in the same direction, and walked together in a somewhat tense silence down the road toward the center of town. Well, tense on Hermione's part; she had a lot on her mind – Pansy seemed to be perfectly at ease, as usual.

At length, they reached the door of the Three Broomsticks pub, and Pansy stopped. "Well, this is where I go in."

"Bye," said Hermione. "Thanks for the lunch, it was lovely, and all." She realized that it wasn't difficult to sound sincere; she really did mean it.

Pansy, however, did not move; she seemed to be waiting for something. Hermione shifted between her feet and wished she knew what. Previous dating experience would probably really come in handy, here.

After a moment or two of watching Hermione fidget with a half-smile playing on her face, Pansy spoke up. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

"You- me– _what_?" Hermione exclaimed, emitting a nervous giggle.

"Yes," drawled Pansy. "That is generally what people do at the end of dates, if I'm not vastly mistaken."

Maybe it was only her pent-up nerves from earlier finally seeking release, but Hermione was feeling reckless. _Oh, what the hell_, she muttered to herself (or possibly aloud), and she glanced up and down the street quickly. Serendipitously, it was empty except for a group of students a few shops down, walking away from where the girls were standing. Before she could lose her nerve, Hermione darted in and planted a quick, dry kiss on Pansy's left cheek. Except that, just at that moment, Pansy's head turned to the left, and Hermione's kiss landed on her lips instead of her cheek.

It was more of a clumsy collision than a kiss though, and lasted all of a few instants before Hermione jerked back and turned red in the face. She was absolutely certain that that hadn't been an accident on Pansy's part.

"I – have to go now!" she said, her voice coming out rather higher and more breathy than she was used to. And without further excuse she rushed past Pansy and up the road to Hogwarts, walking very fast. Neville and Ginny would wonder when she didn't return to meet them, but she could tell them later that she hadn't been feeling well, or something. They would understand. Right now, she needed to get away; she needed some space, and she needed to _think_.


	6. Friends and Enemies

Ok, so here's the deal: this is a small update because it's only the first third or so of the fifth chapter. I had planned to cover a lot more ground in this one, but then school happened…and I figured that even a short update was better than none at all for weeks and weeks on end without any explanation! This story won't update again until sometime **after** my exams are done (5/15), so that I have a chance to not fail my classes and become destitute. Thank you so much for your patience! And, as always, many thanks to Ogis for betaing this chapter…she really held me responsible for Draco's behavior, and thank goodness for that!

**Edit: **This is now all of chapter 5, glommed together as one for your viewing pleasure!

5. Friends and enemies 

Pansy watched the brown-haired Gryffindor bolt up the path to the castle until she rounded a bend and went out of sight, and then turned back with her arms crossed over her chest to the shrubbery in front of her.

"Draco? Would you like to come out now? Or did you want to stay behind the bushes a little longer?" She tried to keep her voice innocent-sounding, but she couldn't stop more than a hint of sarcasm from creeping in at the end.

There was a muttered obscenity followed by a muttered _Finite Incantatum_, and the form of Draco Malfoy was revealed standing there as the effect of the Disillusionment charm drained off.

"How long did you know I was there?" he asked as he stepped out from behind the bush and crossly brushed leaf debris off his shoulders and arms.

"I knew you were there the whole time; you were standing right in front of me. Disillusionment charms aren't perfect, you know." Pansy surreptitiously scrutinized his face. It wasn't like Draco to sneak around and spy on her, or more, even care what she was up to when she wasn't with him. "I could very well ask _you_ what you were doing standing around disillusioned behind a bush outside the pub, when I clearly said I would meet you inside like a normal person."

Draco's upper lip curled infinitesimally. "Just looking out for you, Pansy darling, since you were so late. A man has a right to be concerned; don't work yourself up into a state about it," he drawled. As if he expected her to buy that line. Draco, _concerned_ about her?

She smiled at him as though she did, however, and followed him inside. Draco led them away from the front of the pub where most of the other students were congregating, and picked a spot that afforded them some measure of privacy. Pansy thought he was overreacting - why would anyone want to listen to their conversation? She would have to keep watching him for signs of what he thought he was up to, although she thought she might already know.

She moved to follow him to the bar after they had arrived at Draco's chosen table, but he stopped her with a look and another condescending remark (something along the lines of "just sit _down_, Pansy, I don't need your help to get drinks."), so she just shrugged and let him do it. She had known he was upset with her, and his current bad mood didn't surprise her in the least. It was best not to push Draco when he got like this, but to just let the mood run its course and hope that he didn't have any other nasty tricks up his sleeve in the meantime.

If she had to guess – and she'd known Draco long enough to be pretty sure of her guesses - she'd say that he was jealous of Granger, and wouldn't rest until he had assured himself that Pansy wasn't going to leave him. The situation was complicated, though, by the fact that Granger was not someone he'd want to consider as a serious rival – she would have to have been his equal, first. Pansy wasn't surprised that it had put him in a mood; such a situation would be double untenable by Draco's standards. All he had said before was that he "wanted to know" what Pansy was doing (as if she would tell him), but he would probably try to threaten her if the answers weren't to his liking. She would just have to make sure that he heard what he wanted.

After a rather long while, Draco arrived back from his sojourn to the bar with two bottles of butterbeer, one of which he handed to Pansy before sitting down and opening the other himself.

"The cretins were clogging up the bar," he sneered by way of explanation, as he took a sip. Pansy opened her own bottle and took a long drink of the buttery golden liquid, regarding Draco. He seemed_ antsy_, his eyes never quite meeting hers, and she thought this might be something more than just a jealousy-fueled foul mood. _Nasty_ she more or less expected, but _shifty_ didn't match up. She took another swallow and put the bottle aside as she looked up at Draco, who was regarding her expectantly.

"Well?" she asked when he didn't say anything. "Weren't we here because you wanted to 'have a talk with me,' or is this a purely social engagement after all?"

"No, you're right," he said, with a hint of anxiety in his otherwise assured voice. "There were a couple of things that I wanted to…ask you."

Pansy smiled. Of course. Here came the revelation. She would finally know for sure what it was exactly that had gotten him into such a state. Then she blinked her eyes, feeling unexpectedly sleepy. She would have thought that all the events of the day were finally catching up to her, only it was still early and there was no reason for her to be tired. She picked up her bottle of butterbeer again, but then noticed how Draco's eyes followed its path up to her mouth, and put it down again without drinking. If he had put something in her drink…But she was finding it increasingly hard to put two thoughts together, and a lazy, drifting sensation was overtaking her mind.

Draco leaned forward eagerly. "What is your name?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Pansy replied calmly, the answer floating to the front of her consciousness effortlessly. It was so much easier to just _answer_, and not worry about thinking.

Draco smiled. "And my name is…?"

"Draco Malfoy," Pansy supplied immediately.

"Where are we right now?"

"In the Three Broomsticks pub, in Hogsmeade." Pansy supposed she should have been bothered by the strangeness of the questions, but her mind was entirely filled with the blank, drifting sensation, and when Draco asked a question, her mouth opened to answer it without any direction from her.

Draco leaned forward. "Are you in love with Hermione Granger?" His voice was low and intent. Again, the words bubbled to the front of her mind and out of her mouth as though drawn forth by an irresistible force.

"No," she answered, before she had even decided what to say. Well, it was true, anyway. What a silly question to ask, whether she was in love with Granger…

Draco pressed on. "Do you fancy her, then?"

"No."

Draco didn't seem satisfied with her answers. "Well, are you at all interested her in that way?"

Pansy found her mouth opening of its own volition to answer again, but this time there was something slightly different. It was as though there were two different answers waiting on the tip of her tongue, neither more true than the other, and for a moment the fog cleared. _What was happening?_ With great difficulty, as though the thoughts kept sliding away from her and wouldn't stay put, she dragged together the pieces. Draco had put something in her drink…and now he was asking her questions…and she was answering them all truthfully, without thinking…

_Veritaserum_. She knew of the potion, of course, but had never been on its receiving end before. She must be failing to answer now because the question was too ambiguous to have one true answer. (What 'that way' did he mean, exactly?)

With this realization in place and the two possible answers hovering there, ready to come out, it was not too difficult to subtly nudge the one she thought he wanted to hear, and make it spill out.

"No, I am not."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Are you interested in _me_ that way?" Again, the question was vague enough that the potion didn't quite know what to do with it, and although her mind was still clouded, she was now aware enough of what was going on to find the ambiguity and exploit it.

"Yes," she said. And if by 'that way' he meant 'for his power and influence,' then this was indeed the true answer. She hoped he didn't notice anything different in her manner; if he thought she had found even this tiny loophole, he would probably start asking smarter questions.

"Are you planning on leaving me for Granger?" Draco did not appear to have noticed any difference, but his question was more direct this time anyway.

_Yes _bubbled up to the top of Pansy's mind and struggled to get out, but she fought it back, and fought through the mental fog to find the ambiguity, any ambiguity, in the question. She wasn't _exactly_ planning on leaving him for Granger… It was too early to tell with her, and really, any Gryffindor would do. Or Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, if it came to that. And in the end, she might not have to leave him at all, it depended on so much…

"No, I am not planning on leaving you for Granger," she managed to get out, in a monotone voice. Strictly speaking, it was the truth. She cursed the potion; had she not been under its influence she would have turned the question back on him (_Why, that depends entirely on _you_, Draco dearest…_),or pretended offence (_How could you_ say_ that? I would never give up what we have for a filthy Mudblood!) _Oh, what she wouldn't like to do to him when this was over…But even this fleeting thought was whisked away when she failed to concentrate on it.

"Have you said anything at all to her about me?" Draco maintained the eye contact he had kept up throughout the interrogation, but she saw his eyes flicker minutely toward his left arm.

This one would have been harder to get around, being a direct question, but luckily the true answer was the one Pansy would have liked to give.

"No."

Draco leaned back, apparently satisfied so far. "What _do_ you plan on doing with her?" he asked, linking his arms behind his head. Now that his own petty insecurities were addressed, he clearly felt that he could sit back and simply satisfy his curiosity.

Pansy knew the question was ambiguous, but she also knew exactly what he meant by it. And she knew exactly how she would answer; the words were already floating up and chasing each other to reach her tongue. _I'm going to make her fall in love with me harder than she's ever fallen for anyone before, and I'll make her think that I've done the same. I can play the part as long as I need to. And then, in the case that the Dark Lord falls, I'll have my protection when the ministry tries to prove that I was fighting on your side. A Gryffindor would fight to the ends of the earth for the one she loves, and no one would believe that Hermione Granger would take a Death Eater lover besides. I plan to use her to make me safe._ _And if, against all probability, He succeeds, Granger will surely still have her uses…_

But she bit down on the betraying words and forced others out instead. "I'm planning on going out with her for as long as I can stand," she said, holding fast in her mind that this was _not_ an untruth - perhaps it could be true; perhaps Draco had meant what she planned on doing if she were as petty and vindictive as he thought she was, or maybe her plans would suddenly change and she would follow this one after all… "And the whole time, it will be wreaking havoc on Gryffindor house – they'll all have to either be for her or against her; the damage will be magnificent to behold." Pansy relaxed a bit; the lie was becoming easier and easier to spin off her lips, and she could feel the mental fogs clearing. The potion must be wearing off. She continued on in the monotone, though, not wanting to give anything away until she was ready to. "And then, when I've had enough, and when Granger is in too deep to get out, I'll wreak havoc on Granger herself. By the time I'm done with her, she'll wish she had never heard my name – in fact, I'll tear out her heart and throw it in the gutter and stomp on it so hard, and so many times, that she'll wish she had never even heard of _Hogwarts_." Pansy had to fight down a smile. Honestly, if Draco swallowed that one, then his hyperbole sensors were in desperate need of a tune-up.

But Draco apparently had great faith in his serum, for he didn't look suspicious, only vaguely stunned. "Girls," he muttered under his breath. "Unbelievable." He shook his head to clear it from this vision of emotional warfare heretofore unknown, and barreled forward with his questions.

"And after you're done with…that…you won't do anything stupid like this again?"

Pansy decided that he didn't deserve an answer to this question, not even a false one, and so she shook her head as though to clear it. When she looked back up at Draco, all pretense of vagueness had left her.

"Draco Malfoy, what did you put in my drink? That was Veritaserum, wasn't it," she hissed at him, grabbing her butterbeer bottle and making a show at sniffing it.

Draco's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Pansy…" he growled, warningly.

"Don't even pretend that you didn't just try to drug me," Pansy said, in her own warning tone. "Where were you able to get that from? Veritaserum's a controlled substance; you can't just walk into any apothecary and pick some up. I bet Filch would be all too pleased to hear that a student had been dealing in illegal potions."

"Believe me, I have access to that and more now," Draco said in low voice, pointedly bringing his right hand to rest on his left forearm. _You're out of your depth now,_ the words and gestures said_. Back off now, girl, or you'll be sorry you ever dared threaten me. _"Besides, who would even believe you? It's your word against mine, and we both know that Snape wouldn't let anything happen to me."

Pansy gestured toward the bottle still clutched in her hand. "Except that I have hard evidence that I could bring forward whenever I wanted, and who says I have to stop at Filch, or Snape? Unauthorized use of Veritaserum was a criminal act, last time I checked."

Draco made an ungraceful swipe at grabbing the incriminating bottle at this point, but the table was between them, and Pansy easily lifted it out of his reach. "I don't care –" he started, hotly, but then apparently remembered himself, and settled back into his seat, practically radiating anger.

"You wouldn't."

"Actually, I would," she said, smug. "Unless you behave, that is. Then I'll probably manage to forget to mention it to anyone…"

Draco gritted his teeth, obviously pained at the words he forced past them. "What do you want?"

Pansy leaned across the table, flatly serious for once. "I want you to stay away from me in public. Granger can't know about us, or she'll never fall for it in the first place. You won't do anything to ruin my plans until I'm done with her, and you will not question my motives again. If anyone asks you about me, you'll either tell them that you're sure I have my reasons and that it's none of their business, or say nothing at all. And if you try anything like _this_ again, I won't be so quick to give you a second chance. Understood?"

"And what do I get from all this?" Draco was aiming for arrogance, but it fell flat.

Pansy let out an exasperated sigh. He could wear on the nerves, this one. "You get me not telling Dumbledore about your little potions experiment here, so that you can stay out of trouble and go on with whatever devious assignment you have from You-Know-Who in peace –"

"Pansy!" Draco's eyes were flashing.

"Oh? Don't want anyone to know about that either?"

"No," he ground out.

"Well, then you know what to do, right?" She paused to allow his grudgingly muttered consent. "Otherwise, I might just feel like telling Granger what I know…Or Potter, maybe, or the headmaster…It all just depends on so much…"

Draco seethed while Pansy just smiled blandly and capped her butterbeer before sliding it into a deep pocket of her robes. That would teach him to try and pull one over on Pansy Parkinson… Though she had surely broken some of the illusions she had cultivated in him by playing her hand so openly, on the whole, she thought it was well worth the tradeoff. Now she had two very effective pieces of blackmail against him, should she need them, and anyway, it was really he who was at fault for altering their relationship dynamic in the first place by choosing to drug her.

She did have to hand it to him, though – for a situation that could have come near to ruining everything, he had managed, through a combination of bad ideas (did he really think she wouldn't be able to figure out what he had done? Or had he thought he would have been able to get enough dirt on her while she was under the influence that it wouldn't matter what she knew?) and bad questions (This seemed to be about his ego more than anything – was she in _love_ with Granger? Was she interested in_ him_ that way? Of all the questions to waste Veritaserum on…), to turn it into a situation that worked more by far to her benefit in the long run. Now she had a guarantee that he would stay out of her way with Granger, but she could still appear to be close enough to him that she could soak up the benefits of his good reputation among the Slytherins – which would be needed, eventually, because her decision to date Granger couldn't stay popular forever.

And now that the Draco situation was under control for the foreseeable future, she really had more important things to take care of. She bid a disgruntled Draco farewell, deflected one more futile grab at the contents of her pocket – they both knew that this piece of 'hard evidence' would be much less important than Pansy's magically retrieved memories of the event in an actual investigation - and left to go gather Millicent and the girls so she could have a bit more proper Hogsmeade visiting before it was time to go back.

-) U C (-

5. Friends and Enemies (part two)

The Gryffindor common room was mostly empty when Hermione got back, for which she was glad. She needed somewhere still where she could sort out her thoughts in peace; they had all jumbled in her head while she was walking.

First of all, Pansy had kissed her – no, she had kissed Pansy. No, that wasn't first at all. Hermione forced herself to think back to the beginning, and sort through things in the proper order.

First of all, Pansy had been her enemy. Was she still her enemy? Hermione frowned and put this question aside to be asked later, after she had established the facts of the matter. So, first, they had been enemies, or rivals at least, because their friends were rivals. She disliked Pansy because she had no reason to like her – she had never looked for one, true, but Pansy had certainly never given her one. But maybe people could change…

So that had come first. Second, Pansy had asked her on a date, very publicly, where Hermione couldn't refuse. And she had seized the opportunity so fast, and worked so effectively, that it almost looked premeditated. Was she trying to trick her somehow? This seemed most likely, given their history. But there was more to it than that, so Hermione put that theory aside for later.

Third, she had behaved…well, _nicely_, on the date. This was the first thing that didn't match up. Hermione had had fun; far from being repulsed or annoyed or even bored by her Slytherin rival, she had actually - Hermione grit her mental teeth and admitted, in the spirit of pure honesty, that she might have been the tiniest bit attracted to Pansy. At that particular moment in time, while she had been acting in that way. Which opened up all sorts of other questions, namely, the one about what it meant if she could be attracted to Pansy – did it extend to _girls in general_? But Hermione shoved that thought away into another room of her mind entirely, and locked the door on it. She could only figure out one thing at a time, and she was focusing on understanding the Pansy situation right now.

So. She had enjoyed herself, mostly, and Pansy had been pleasant enough company, and Hermione just might be a bit attracted to her. Then she had made all that fuss about not letting Hermione pay for her share, which was definitely a strike against her, and had managed to get _Hermione_ to ask her out on another date. It would seem she was up to _something_. _Though that's exactly what someone would do if they just wanted to keep seeing you_, a less suspicious side of Hermione chimed in. _Though a normal person would have found some way to _ask_ me rather than _trick_ me_, she bit back. That was another strike against Pansy; the underhanded way she went about things.

And then there had been the kiss. Hermione didn't know if she liked it or not, and she definitely didn't appreciate being coerced into doing things, but she still couldn't quite seem to stop thinking about it. _And that wasn't exactly coercion_, the same annoying voice as before added. True, she could have easily gotten out of doing it if she wanted to. Which meant… .

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself. Fine, maybe she had wanted to. Or maybe she was just curious, or maybe she just wanted to get it over with and going along was easier than finding a reason to say no. Whatever it was, she hadn't thought about it then, and she felt she was thinking too much about it now. These things couldn't be changed now that they had happened, and now all she needed to do was figure out what she should best do _next_.

That, she knew, depended on what Pansy planned to do. On the one hand, her first impression might hold and this whole thing might be some kind of set-up. Based on their previous interaction, and the suspect circumstances under which she first asked her out, and the way she had tried (and succeeded) to extort more things from Hermione, this was the theory she should go with, but that didn't explain the way she had acted on the date proper. Unless it was a more long-term plan, and the punchline would come much later, when Hermione was least expecting it. _That_ would be the most Slytherin thing of her. Hermione grimaced.

Another theory – perhaps she really _did_ mean what one usually meant by all of it, and just wanted to go out with Hermione for her own sake. Hermione imagined that a decision to date a Gryffindor girl couldn't go over well with Pansy's house mates, and she could forgive Pansy herself if she went about it a bit strangely.

Or maybe someone had put Pansy up to it?

Hermione paused for a moment and stared out the open window, not really thinking. The silence, she found, was much needed when her thoughts got too loud like this.

After a while, she turned away from the window, and things did seem clearer. As far as Pansy went, it was one of three things – either she had some secret evil plot behind all of this, or she didn't and just had a funny way of doing things, or she was up to something that even Hermione couldn't think of. Knowing Slytherins, and their reputation for deviousness, Hermione couldn't put the third option aside.

And that left her with _What should I do about it_? Hermione knew what she wanted to do, and that was to just see where this was all heading before she decided concretely one way or the other. And perhaps she was a bit curious to see what it would be like to kiss Pansy again, not that once hadn't been enough, just…twice couldn't hurt either, could it? She would just have to be careful, since it was obvious that Pansy could still easily have something very nasty in store.

-) U C (-

They weren't the only students who had decided a stroll around the lake after dinner was a good idea, apparently, and Ginny and Hermione had to walk some way before they were out of earshot of anyone and Ginny could ask what she was obviously bursting to say.

"So, Hermione, how was it? What did she do? What took you so long? Me and Neville didn't see you at all after, were you two really at Madam Puddifoot's that whole time? Were -"

Hermione held up a hand weakly for Ginny to slow down, and stepped over a few rocks, looking at her feet, before she answered. "It wasn't bad, actually. I did go back up to the castle after without telling you; sorry about that."

Ginny made a shooing motion as though the apology were unwelcome. "Just 'not bad'?"

Hermione kicked a clump of grass and kept her eyes fixed on her shoes. What about these things made them so hard to say out loud? She usually had no problem with talking about anything on her mind; usually it got to the point where people probably wished she would shut up.

"Well, no, I kind of enjoyed myself, a bit." At least she wasn't blushing.

Ginny cawed and grabbed her arm. "I knew it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes; Ginny had never said she would enjoy herself, but she obliged with all the details when Ginny demanded them (except for the few more personal details that Pansy would probably appreciate her leaving out), and found it easier to talk about as they went on. Ginny was almost too supportive, and thought that everything was a good sign, even Pansy insisting on paying.

"But Hermione, that means that she really likes you! You can't hold it against her that she's trying to be traditional; you can't call it a _date_ unless one person pays for the other." She scoffed under her breath, a sound Hermione was surely meant to hear. "So, what did you think? Do you fancy her?"

Hermione was arrested mid eye-roll at the abrupt change of direction in the questioning. "Do I _what_?"

"You know. Fancy her." Ginny's eyes were positively dancing with glee; Hermione could only imagine how long she had been waiting for her friend to become romantically involved so she could subject her to this treatment. "I mean, even a little tiny bit? Or even if you think you could, possibly, at some point?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, I guess so, maybe a _tiny_ bit. It's too early to tell though." Ginny positively jumped on her in her haste to give her a congratulatory hug, and Hermione was glad that by now her blush was hidden in the twilight.

"Ginny, do you think we should start going back now?" Besides the fact that it was getting hard to make their way in the gathering darkness, they had gone some way along the bank while caught up in conversation.

Ginny released her from the hug only reluctantly, with a giggling, "You really _do_? How brilliant!" as they went back up to the castle.

"But what'll you do now, Hermione?" Ginny asked, when she had regained some gravity. "I mean, of course I hope it works out the best for you, it would be horrible if it didn't, but she is a Slytherin, and it's only practical to think that we don't quite know what she meant by this in the first place…"

"Yeah, I know," Hermione agreed, wrinkling her nose. "I already thought of that. I guess all I can do is keep an eye out, and just try not to get caught up by any plot she has against me. If she did, it'd depend on me not knowing what was going on. And I don't know, but I just don't have a really bad feeling about this. I sort of just want to pretend like I trust her for now, and see where this goes…"

Ginny was chewing on a thumbnail. "Mmm…I think you're right. We can't automatically assume she's up to something bad, but we can't be stupid about it either. I'll keep an eye out too; if she's really turned the charm on you, you never know what you might miss."

Hermione suppressed a chuckle at how her "I" had turned to Ginny's "we," and nodded. Logically, there always was the possibility that she would get so caught up in Pansy's "charm" that she wouldn't see if something was coming, but to put it like that just sounded silly. Hermione, all caught up in a witch's charms?

Ginny's next question came as if she could read thoughts. "So, if you want to keep dating her for now, does that mean you really do like girls? Would that make you a lesbian?"

Hermione swallowed. "Um. I don't know about that yet?" Truthfully, it was never a subject she had considered much before. One didn't need to _think_ about one's personality traits, they were just there – right? "I mean, Pansy's just one girl, maybe it's just her. And I didn't even say if I totally knew whether I was attracted to her yet." It was really far too early to tell.

Ginny just gave a knowing nod and a patronizing "mmmm." When she looked over, though, her eyes carried no hint of a joke. "When do you think you will know?"

Hermione let out a sigh and wished that this subject didn't make her so uncomfortable. "I have no idea - after I get to know her better I guess. And I just need time to get used to the idea," she said, trying to put Ginny off.

Ginny didn't look very dissuaded, but she didn't press the subject. "I know, it's not something I've ever had to deal with either, obviously." She was silent for a minute. "Look, I know I said I was excited for you – I am, really – but only if this all turns out all right. I guess I just really hope it does, but be careful, ok? It could go bad so easily. You shouldn't rush into this so fast…maybe you should get her to _tell_ you what she thinks about it before you're alone with her again. I wouldn't be too easy on her if I were you."

"Yeah, I know. I already said –"

Ginny cut her off. "No, promise me you'll be careful. I think this could be really good for you, but only if you don't get hurt because you let yourself get tricked. I know, I know, you don't get tricked easily," said Ginny, rolling her eyes, "But this is different, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," said Hermione again, but this time with resignation. Ginny did have more experience than Hermione with dating, after all, and unlike Pansy, Hermione _knew_ that she had her best interests in mind. Then why didn't she really want to hear her advice?

-) U C (-

Pansy's evening, unfortunately, held no leisurely walks by the lake. It had consisted mostly of avoiding Draco and doing what she thought of as 'damage control' among her friends. They were all too willing to believe that she had some nasty surprise in store for Granger, but they were less than happy to be kept out of the particulars. She had been giving out a combination of the "If I tell too many people, it'll ruin it," variety of explanations, alternated with a _why on earth should I let _you _into my plans_ attitude, and it had worked pretty well so far. Hell, most of the girls were still jealous of her for having gotten Draco first, and as long as they remembered that fact she wouldn't have much trouble convincing them that she was better.

It was tiresome to have to wait until they were all asleep, however, to do her real business of the evening – namely, applying for private lessons with Professor Snape. The deadline for applications was on Monday, so she had little time to work on it, and even less if she didn't want anyone seeing her at it. He was their head of house, and people would have approved on that count, but Pansy had never been the most _academically-minded_ of students. O.W.L.'s came easily to her, but that was only to be expected of a pureblood of her family's stature. Private lessons were another matter, and bespoke an attitude toward work entirely unbefitting someone of her class, and something that would _not_ help her status among her house mates, no matter who she was taking them from.

She needed this though, and she thought it was high time that she took her plans for the future a bit farther than simply tempting away a Gryffindor. Although she was happy about that – _very_ happy, in fact; she hadn't expected it to go nearly this well on the first try. But she wanted to know more about Veritaserum, and how to resist it (she didn't expect to be that lucky twice), and about other potions that her potential enemies might slip her, and of course defensive or dark spells – everyone knew that had always been his _real_ specialty – and whatever else she could get him to teach her without rousing undue suspicion. Of course she would be applying for Potions lessons formally, but she was almost certain she could get him to understand her need for a more varied curriculum. She had felt incredibly unprepared today, and she didn't want that to happen again.

Maybe for a Gryffindor love really did conquer all, but she wasn't willing to throw all her Galleons in one bag. A Slytherin made double and triple-sure that everything would go off all right.

And with that in mind, she bent over the application that she had bullied off a twitchy-looking Ravenclaw the other day, and began to quill in the answers to the horribly inane questions. Honestly, what was her dearest ambition and why? Name one person that has influenced her life? Who made up these questions? She was sure that Snape would let her in since she was in his house, anyway. And if he didn't….she clenched her quill, and then relaxed it. And if that happened, she would get what she needed some other way.

Maybe Granger could even help her…Pansy grinned, since no one was looking, and wondered how many other uses she would find for the girl before she ran out of ideas.


	7. The Expandable Chest

So sorry that this is going up so many days late! A thousand apologies, oh patient, lovely readers! More notes at the end of the chapter, but for now I'll just let you get to it.

6. The Expandable Chest

"So then I said to her, 'If you want to have a chance at getting Chaser in the tryouts, you'd better be doing a lot more practicing and a lot less mooning after Seamus,' I mean, she's not really taking this seriously – even _Katie_ isn't assuming she'll get a place on the team, which I think is a bit silly, but she's got the right idea; you can't just act like your place is guaranteed and then not do any work for it…"

Hermione smiled and nodded, but Ginny could have kept on ranting on Quidditch whether or not Hermione was paying attention, and Dean, across the table from them, was doing more than his fair share of encouragement besides. She stared up at the ceiling; the thick clouds had made it get dark early outside, and heavy drops were lashing against the high windows.

"…if everyone acted like that then what kind of team would we be? Honestly! And it's not as if I even think that Demelza is a bad player, she's quite good actually, but if she doesn't get her act together then she'll never even make the team, much less help us win the Cup, and Katie's been on Harry to schedule the tryouts soon, so it's not as if she even has that much time…"

Hermione tuned in momentarily to agree with Ginny's assessment of the – doubtless important – situation with Demelza Robins, and then went back to staring off into space. This was a lot like Ron and Harry's heated discussions about Quidditch, she noted to herself, but she had no more mind for nostalgia than for the dinner conversation. She was too distracted by the dark-haired Slytherin sitting across the hall, who was visible at intervals in the gap between the hulking masses of Crabbe and Goyle.

It was funny. In the weeks since her date with Pansy, she had noticed the dark haired girl around Hogwarts more than she had during her entire first five years combined. She knew that they had to have always passed each other in the halls with relatively the same frequency, and there had always been classes and meals where Slytherins and Gryffindors were together, but it didn't stop the feeling that Pansy was suddenly everywhere. It was like learning a new word and then hearing it everywhere you went, only more so. It made Hermione wonder what other things she could be missing simply because she wasn't paying attention.

But Hermione thought that it couldn't be entirely her, either. Like just now – Pansy, who was sitting on the far side of the Slytherin table, facing the rest of the hall, had deliberately glanced up at her. Hermione ceased her perusal of the ceiling and kept her gaze fixed on the Slytherin table, hoping to catch her at it again.

Pansy appeared to be absorbed in serious conversation with her friends, though Hermione couldn't really see their faces between Crabbe and Goyle's massive shoulders. Hermione didn't let her gaze wander as she idly toyed with her fork, and was rewarded not long after when Pansy looked her way again.

This time their eyes met and Pansy let her serious, haughty look crack just enough to wink briefly at Hermione before falling back into her conversation. Hermione felt a spark of excitement, like she had been let into some kind of secret, or a game - _I know you're there, but don't let them know, ok? We can keep it just between us_.

Hermione kept watching for a little longer, with Pansy making no other sign of noticing her, but this didn't do anything to damp her sudden happiness.

"Hermione! You're not listening, and you're not eating either." Ginny, apparently done discussing the Quidditch tryouts, followed Hermione's gaze, and her next words were lost as she grinned knowingly.

"Well, never mind about listening," said Ginny, still with the knowing smile, "But honestly, dinner is for eating." She spooned some turnips onto Hermione's untouched plate, which was only half-full. So maybe she had gotten distracted before she had finished taking food, but it wasn't as though supper had been going on for _that_ long.

Hermione intercepted Ginny's second spoon of vegetables before it reached her plate and took up the serving herself, Pansy momentarily forgotten as she realized that she really was quite hungry. "You're slowly turning into your mother, you know," she said, suppressing a chuckle.

"No!" Ginny gasped, only half in jest. "Say it isn't true!" She turned to Dean for support, but he was already laughing

"Can you imagine?" Hermione was grinning now. "I can just see you, telling people off for their choices in romantic partners…career paths…diets… worrying about whether everyone's noses are clean…"

"Knitting us all horrendous jumpers for Christmas," Dean chimed in.

"Oh stop! You two are terrible!" Ginny exclaimed weakly, but the effect was ruined by her own peals of laughter.

They did stop, but Ginny entertained them with stories about her mother (all meant to illustrate how _unlike_ the elder Weasley Ginny was, of course) until the food disappeared a while later. Hermione, deciding now was as good a time as any, excused herself.

"Hey, Ginny, I'm going now - I'll meet you in the common room later, ok?"

Ginny followed Hermione's tiny head jerk toward the other end of the Great Hall, and nodded.

"Right. Take your time! And good luck!" She smiled encouragingly and squeezed Hermione's hand, then turned to enlighten Dean, who hadn't been able to follow their wordless exchange.

Hermione smiled back over her shoulder as she headed briskly toward the double doors at the end of the hall. She slowed down when she got through the entrance hall, and stopped when she got to the entrance of the hallway that led to the Slytherin dorms. She got a few odd looks from students leaving the Great Hall, but most people just passed her without looking up.

She didn't have to wait long before Pansy emerged, surrounded by her usual gang of Slytherin girls, and being talked to rather insistently by Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione cut through the group as they passed, and fell in step with Pansy.

"Could I have a word, Parkinson?" she asked, effectively breaking Millicent's chatter mid-stream.

Silence fell as everyone turned to look at her, and even Pansy looked a little surprised. "Sure, Granger. You can go on without me," she added, addressing her companions. They wordlessly continued down the hallway with only a few backward glances, and Pansy grabbed Hermione's elbow and pulled her down a narrower side corridor.

Pansy lounged in a doorway and crossed her arms over her chest. "So, what did you want to talk with me about?"

Hermione attempted to make herself comfortable in the other side of the doorway, but could not match Pansy's effortless grace. "Well, I was wondering, since I had said, last time, about paying for next time, and since that's not much good if there's not a next time …Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me? You don't have to if you don't want to, obviously, I'm fine with it either way. I thought I'd ask just in case you did want to, though…" Hermione bit the inside of her lip nervously; she hadn't meant to say it in _quite_ that many words.

"I was wondering when you'd ask me." Pansy smirked, after appearing to consider for a moment. "I'd love to."

"Oh, good!" Hermione was relieved, even though that was what she had expected her to say. The date had been as much as promised since last time, but Hermione was much more comfortable now that it was decided for sure. Now that she had decided to just play along and see where this would lead for a little while, she did want it to be interesting, and actually lead somewhere. Though where, exactly, she still didn't know…

But Hermione saved this inner turmoil for a time when there wasn't planning to be done. "I was thinking Madam Puddifoot's again - at three, three thirty, say? We'd want to be able to get back to the castle in time for supper."

"Yeah, it _was_ kind of annoying how it broke up the day last time." A hint of aloofness crept into Pansy's voice.

Hermione was a bit taken aback. "But you were the one who picked the middle of the day last time!"

The corner of Pansy's mouth lifted in something between a true smile and a smirk. "Well, then maybe I'm just complimenting you on your excellent choice of times."

"Oh. I couldn't tell…" said Hermione, caught between a reprimand and an apology. Was Pansy purposely trying to catch her off guard, or was she just unusually hard to read? Her manner was otherwise pleasant and inoffensive, and Hermione couldn't tell one way or the other.

Pansy detached herself from the door frame and leaned a little closer. "Maybe you're not paid enough compliments, Granger." She ran a cool finger down the side of Hermione's face. "Funny, because you should be."

Hermione automatically caught Pansy's hand, whether to stop its path or keep it there she didn't exactly know. "Well, thank you. You're _too_ kind." She let a little sarcasm creep into her own voice, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. If Pansy wanted to flirt, then she would find that Hermione was not entirely unpracticed in that area.

"Quick learner," said Pansy, grinning. "That _was _another compliment."

"Oh, because I've _never_ heard that one before. Should I be flattered, or offended?" Hermione realized that she was still holding onto the other girl's hand, and hastily dropped it.

"Touché." Pansy subsided back into her own side of the doorway. "Well, take your pick – which one would you rather?"

"Hm, well, that depends on too much." Hermione raised her eyebrows meaningfully, but Pansy seemed content to lean against the doorframe and regard her with that infuriatingly unreadable look she had. "Well, I shouldn't keep you any longer; your friends will be wondering where you are. See you later?" This last bit came out more like a question than Hermione had intended.

Pansy let out a short laugh, as though Hermione had said something funny. "Yeah. Later, Granger."

She left the doorway and headed back down the side corridor the way they had came without a backward glance, and Hermione, noting this and wanting to avoid awkward double-goodbyes if possible, went down the corridor in the opposite direction. This turned out to be a somewhat bad decision, as it led to an entirely unfamiliar part of the castle, and it was a good fifteen minutes and a good number cramped, winding staircases and dark, unfamiliar corridors later before she got to somewhere she recognized, and another ten after that before she got back to Gryffindor tower.

"Did you do it?" were Ginny's first words as she made room for Hermione on her couch by the fire.

Hermione flopped down beside her, smiling a bit. "Yeah. I did say I'd do it tonight, didn't I?"

"I know you did, just – things can happen. So, how'd it go?" Ginny had inserted herself as part of the planning process from the very moment that Hermione had decided she'd give Pansy another chance (although Ginny seemed to ignore the relationship's highly provisional status most of the time), and once she had gotten used to it, Hermione welcomed these chances to talk about her love life with someone else. Hermione supposed Ginny the only reason that it hadn't happened earlier was that they hadn't been as close friends when she was going out with Viktor, and honestly, there hadn't been that much to talk about.

"It went fine," she said, smiling slightly to herself. She didn't know what to call it other than that; _fun_ didn't exactly cover it, and _effective_ seemed too dry and businesslike even by Hermione's standards.

"Did you ask her about ….?"

Hermione knew what Ginny was talking about without her having to say. "No, I didn't think now was the best time – she'd just lie if she was really planning something bad, and I don't see how asking her about that would do much good at this point. I just asked if she'd want to come to Hogsmeade with me, and she said she'd be delighted, and we set up a time and everything."

Ginny's sigh was laced with disapproval – Hermione knew that she had wanted her to inquire into Pansy's motives _before_ she went out with her again, not after – but it didn't stop her seemingly unquenchable curiosity. "Well, where'd you decide on?"

"Madam Puddifoot's." Hermoine grinned at Ginny's shocked look.

"_Hermione_! But that's the same place twice, you can't do that! Where's your imagination? It'll be just like the first date!"

"Precisely," said Hermione, and Ginny quieted down. "If it's boring and unoriginal, and she still wants to keep going out with me, then at least we know she's not in it for the novelty. That rules out one possible motive, at least." Though how many others it left, Hermione didn't know.

"Hmm, good point," said Ginny, considering. "But now you're acting all Slytherin about it; I still say you should just ask her…and what if she doesn't get bored easily?"

"Then she doesn't get bored easily, and there's nothing I can do about it. But I don't have to make this any _more_ interesting for her than it has to be; it's not like I'm _trying_ to make her stick around."

Ginny grinned teasingly. "But you wouldn't mind if she did, would you?"

Hermione had no answer for this.

After a moment, when it was apparent that Ginny was done with her for the time being, she opened her bag to get the book she had been reading lately, under Ginny's amused gaze. Without Harry's and Ron's homework in addition to her own, she found that she had more free time than usual, not to mention that the N.E.W.T. review sessions she had blocked out for the three of them went much quicker alone. She spent some of her time helping Ginny review for her O.W.L.'s, but even with that she still had large chunks of evening left over after her homework was done on most days.

She had never done so much leisure reading during the school year since primary school, or first year, at least.

Though not all would agree that it was leisure reading, apparently. "Hermione, what are you reading? That thing is huge – you're not studying for the date again, are you?"

Hermione laughed. The impulse that had driven her to the library was strangely gone now, as were her former nerves at the thought of spending time with Pansy. It had been fear of the unknown, she decided, and now that she knew more or less what to expect, she felt far less apprehensive. "No, I'm not studying for the date – though it did come in handy last time, I'll have you know," she informed Ginny. Well, bringing up the Dark gift could just as well have gone very badly, but she had been lucky that time.

The book she was reading now was very old, and thick, (though this was due mostly to the material of the pages rather than their number), and exuded a faint smell of mildew. Madam Pince had had to attach a fresh slip to the inside cover when she checked it out; either it had lost its original one, or it hadn't been checked out since the present system had been implemented. Hermione suspected the latter.

"So what is it then?" Ginny peered at the cover, but it was unmarked.

"It claims to be a translation of an ancient Norse Grimoire; it's half in Runic so I doubt that it was translated much later than it was written, or maybe there was no original and the author was just trying to gain credibility for his own work. Anyway, it's absolutely fascinating; it has mythology, and spells, of course, and accounts of magical beasts and powerful wizards, and I think I even found a few recipes…"

Ginny, knowing well her friend's taste in reading, nodded. "Sounds really interesting! I don't even want to know what the ancient Norse used to eat, though… If you ever get in the mood for some light reading, though, you're always welcome to borrow some of mine." Ginny's reading collection consisted mainly of romance novels ordered from Witch Weekly, and books on Quidditch (both on the sport in general, and on the Holyhead Harpies in particular), and was most definitely lighter reading than anything that could be found in the Hogwarts library.

"I already owled my dad and asked him to send some of mine from home, but thanks." And who knew – maybe it would do her good to look at Ginny's books. There had to be something to be said for not falling entirely out of touch with popular wizarding culture.

Just then, Crookshanks came wandering down from the girls' dormitory, looking as though he had just woken up, and settled himself in front of the fire to give himself a bath. Ginny shrugged in response to Hermione's comment and returned to the essay she was writing, and Hermione picked her book back up, idly petting the cat when he jumped onto the couch and invaded her lap, demanding attention.

-) U C (-

"Enter."

Pansy obeyed the one-word command and opened the door. "You wanted to see me?"

"Ah yes, Parkinson." Snape looked up from the papers on his desk. "It's about your application."

Pansy closed the door behind her and, crossing the small room, sat in the straight-backed chair across from Snape's desk. It was the first time she had been in the former Potions Master's office that year, and it looked like he hadn't spent much time redecorating since his job switch. There were a few scattered defensive instruments about, but most of his office was dominated by a large and well-equipped Potions bench, and three walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves holding assorted containers of ingredients.

"Let's see here…" Snape paged through what Pansy assumed was her application, and Pansy did her best to project calm and composure. She was a little bit anxious, because she really needed this to work, but it wouldn't do to let him see any sign of nerves.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said, setting the papers down. "Professor Dumbledore has already approved your eligibility take lessons, and now it is up to my own discretion whether to take you on." He steepled his fingers and looked at her over them, probably a gesture meant to intimidate. It might have worked on her, a few years ago, but Pansy did not feel her practiced composure slide. She had much bigger things to worry about than angry teachers.

"Why do you want to take private lessons in Potions, Parkinson?" He paused, but Pansy knew better to interrupt. "You never struck me as one possessed of any particular…passion…for the subject. And it seems the logical choice for instruction would be Professor Slughorn, our current Potions Master; not I."

Pansy allowed herself a small smile. She knew that he'd be almost ready to let her in simply because she was in his House, and already a prefect – otherwise, he would never have granted her this interview – but it wouldn't do to let her in without some nominal reason. She expected she could give him one; the necessary flattery and persuasion and half-truths were second nature to her.

"I've seen enough of Professor Slughorn's teaching by now," she started, "And I'd prefer to learn from the best, if it's all the same."

Snape arched one eyebrow sardonically, but didn't interrupt her.

"I want to take extra Potions now for the advantage it will give me in the future – both at Hogwarts and after. I don't know how to put this, but having an area of expertise will make me that much more attractive for, well…" She feigned embarrassment.

"On the pureblood marriage market?" Snape drawled dryly.

"Yes, sir, essentially…I was going to say for potential suitors, but you understand what I mean…you can't afford to let any advantage slip, and it's definitely not too early to start thinking about these things." Which was true; her own mother had gotten married practically straight out of school. "And frankly, Potions is my best bet if I want to specialize in any subject; I just don't have the magical power to keep up with advanced Transfigurations or Charms, say." It was always good to add a little truth to a lie, to make it more credible. She looked into her lap, as though the admission had pained her.

"So what you're saying is that Potions is a soft option for those who can't manage wand-cast magic much past their sixth year, and you think you should be good at _something_ if you want a chance at marrying well?"

Pansy winced, inwardly, at how easily he believed that a Parkinson couldn't get anyone she wanted in marriage. It used to be that every pureblood family was clamoring to connect themselves to the Parkinsons, and everyone else knew it – she should be perfectly marriageable without acquiring any special qualifications; that was for half-blood's daughters who were trying to rise in society. Now all that mattered was loyalty to the Dark Lord, and the Parkinsons had only very recently pledged him allegiance. They had little social status now, compared to brown-nosing scum like the Malfoys.

"It sounds bad when you put it like that, Sir, but I think they're as good reasons as any – you've often said that Potions is a matter of skill and dedication, and that skill could be acquired if you let me, Sir. And the rest of my life depends on this, so I hardly imagine that I'll be lacking in dedication. You have nothing to worry about my scholarship, if that's your concern."

"Yes…"

Snape sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers again, considering. She hoped her story would be convincing enough for him – she knew a sudden passion for Potions would have looked too suspicious, but she doubted he often accepted students who weren't at least as obsessed with the subject as he was. However, she had expressed a strong ambition, and a cunning desire to hide her weaknesses – both qualities which were prized in Slytherins, and which the head of her house would be wont to encourage – and she had hopefully added enough subtle flattery to make up for at least some measure of past indifference to the subject.

"It would be highly irregular for me to take on a student who didn't plan on pursuing a career in Potions, Parkinson, and especially one with a case as convoluted as yours…"

Seeing her chance slipping away, Pansy went out on a limb. "And how many other applicants do you have to choose from, Sir? Is there anyone who would be a better candidate than me?"

His expression soured, but there was a glint of something like admiration in his hooded eyes, as well. "I could put you in detention for a remark like that, Parkinson. But as it so happens, no one else has applied for private Potions lessons with me this year, and you have certainly demonstrated an unexpected persistence on the issue, if nothing else. You do understand that Potions is not a subject to be taken lightly? It is a most precise and demanding art, and that I am not inclined to be lenient with my private scholars. If you were expecting to get by without hard work, then you are mistaken."

"Yes, Sir. I understand," she said, trying not to look over-eager.

"Very well," said Snape. "I trust that you will be able to meet at this time weekly?"

Pansy thought she could detect a tone of amusement, perhaps even curiosity, in his usually cold drawl, but she couldn't be sure.

Pansy nodded, dipping her head to hide the triumphant gleam in her eyes behind her fringe.

"Then we will begin at once."

-) U C (-

"Hello, Parkinson."

"Hey, Granger," Pansy said, noting the other girl's friendly smile. This had become their customary greeting over the past few weeks, on the few times they had occasioned to pass each other alone in the halls between classes or during Prefects' rounds. That smile was a very good sign, even though it didn't come quite as easily when there were other people around. It was enough that Granger didn't feel the need to be so guarded around Pansy; whether she was comfortable with other people seeing them was a question for much later in the game.

"Crummy weather lately," Granger commented as they crossed the village green and fell into step on the road to Madam Puddifoot's teashop.

Pansy made a noise of agreement as she looked up at the sky, which had been full of thickening clouds that had threatened rain since midmorning. "Looks like it might rain."

"Yeah, it probably will," said Hermione, frowning up at the clouds. "I hope Harry didn't schedule Quidditch practice for this afternoon."

Pansy made the agreement noise again, and asked, innocently, "And how's Harry doing?" Pansy knew, of course, that her new presence in Granger's life couldn't sit well with the Golden Trio – she didn't think she had seen them together in several weeks, which piqued her interest - but she was curious just how far Granger's friendliness would extend. Would she throw Pansy out in favor of Potter and Weasley as soon as the issue was broached? Pansy didn't think this at all likely, but it would be prudent to find something like that out before she had invested too much time in the girl.

"He's doing well, I expect," said Hermione with a slight sigh, and her gaze grew distant.

Pansy nodded, and didn't press the matter. It didn't sound like things between them were going well at all – perhaps they had really stopped talking altogether, in which case that meant that Granger had already chosen Pansy over them… Pansy's habit of hiding her emotions were too deeply engrained for her to let out a triumphant laugh, but it was a near thing.

A little bell tinkled as they opened the door to the teashop, and the two girls followed a bubbly waitress – indistinguishable from the one from last time – through the maze of frilly little tables and chairs. The place was relatively full of amorous couples, due to the questionable weather and the lateness of the day, but most of the room's occupants were too absorbed in each other to look up as the girls passed.

Since Pansy had met Granger on the way over, there had been no chance to arrange a special table, and consequently, they were seated in plain view of most of the other occupants of the teashop. Pansy could see them giving covert – or not so covert – glances towards her and Granger. She glared pointedly at one particularly brazen Hufflepuff girl, but other than that, she knew she'd have to put up with some measure of staring. It wasn't every day you saw a Slytherin and a Gryffindor girl going out on a date together in the middle of Hogsmeade. She knew that people would talk, but that had been bound to happen sooner or later anyway. And this was never meant to be a secret relationship.

She had a feeling that it would work with Granger, but what wouldn't work was giving Granger the idea that she had something to hide.

Granger chuckled when Pansy shot another glare at some rude Fourth Year Slytherin who she didn't know. "I don't mind if they look, you know. We couldn't stop them if we tried, and it's not like we're doing anything secret. Just talking."

Pansy assured her that she didn't mind people looking, either, it was just when they were unendurably rude that she felt she had to do something about it.

Granger chuckled again, and they fell into easy small talk, pausing when the waitress returned with their tea and again when another waitress came through pushing a cart full of small, delicate cakes and pastries, of which Granger took several. Pansy took one too, even though she wasn't feeling particularly hungry, just so that Granger wouldn't be the only one eating. Granger definitely seemed to be acting more comfortable around Pansy, and she wanted to encourage this feeling. She seemed much less reserved than last time, and she no longer acted so unsure of herself, as though she wasn't sure she should be there.

Pansy gave herself most of the credit for this change; she had played it just right so far, and the conclusions that Granger had obviously come to about her on her own were just the ones Pansy had wanted. And she was very glad that it had happened so fast, too; now that the initial barrier of awkwardness was down, she could apply herself in earnest to figuring out what would make Granger fall in love with her.

Pansy kept half her attention on the light conversation, which was easy enough to maintain, and the other half on Granger. It didn't take much to notice the way she would scrutinize Pansy more closely when she thought she wasn't looking, or the more telling way she would drop her gaze into her teacup whenever their eyes happened to make contact. Pansy hardly even had to flirt at all; Granger was practically doing the job for her, although for the most part, she was hiding her feelings admirably. If Pansy had been a little less perceptive, she might have missed the telltale signs of a budding crush altogether.

They talked about a number of things, gradually moving from the weather and Quidditch – neither of them had much to say about that – to Professor Slughorn's latest assignment, and from there to Potions in general, where it came out that Pansy was taking private lessons with Snape.

It was then that Pansy found that her lie to Snape, about how gaining a field of expertise would make her a more attractive mate, was more true than she had anticipated. Granger instantly and exuberantly congratulated her, and there was no missing that new look of respect she bestowed on her.

Pansy didn't quite know what to do with it – she had never looked to compete academically with the Gryffindor; Granger was in a league of her own. But respect, even unlooked-for, couldn't hurt, could it? Pansy realized that this seduction might be quite a bit more complicated than she had anticipated, but instead of being discouraged by the prospect, she found herself energized. Here, finally, was a challenge worthy of her.

And indeed, she had rarely felt as engaged as she felt right now, sitting in a chintzy, emptying teashop, nibbling on a pastry with a ridiculous name, trying to figure out her ex-rival. Manipulating Draco had never been this much fun.

The conversation turned from classes their respective weekends so far – Granger's had been good, Pansy's busy – and then back to classes again, where Granger complained (_complained_!) that she had too much free time, and they debated over whether or not sixth year was harder than fifth year.

All the time, Pansy was trying to figure out just how flirtatious she should be, and read between the lines of everything Granger was saying. Pansy knew how she wanted this affair to end up, but as for how she would accomplish that, she was making it up as she went along.

Granger caught on pretty quick about the flirting, after Pansy had just happened to reach for the sugar spoon at the exact same instant as her for the second time, but even though her look said she knew what Pansy was up to, she didn't seem to mind. Pansy thought she shouldn't overplay that part, anyway.

From the way she talked about her friends, Pansy got the sense that there was something missing there. Not only did it appear that she hadn't spent time with Potter or Weasley in weeks, but her dorm mates sounded like clones of Pansy's own. There was the girl-Weasley to think about, but if Granger suffered from a dearth of female companionship, that might make Pansy's job even easier…

As a fact-finding mission, the date had been a success.

Even though Pansy had never before spent this much time on a date discussing academics – Granger had wound back around to the subject of private lessons, and her regret that she had not elected to take any. Academics did make a conveniently safe subject to go to, since so much of their shared past was off-limits for fear of ruining the mood, and Granger seemed no more inclined to start a discussion about the more deeply personal details of her self than Pansy did.

Pansy dragged herself out of her musings in time to listen to the tail end of what Granger was saying and nod in all the right places.

"…Though I'm starting to think maybe I should have applied for some, with any professor at all, if only to pass the time. I've still got extra time, even counting N.E.W.T. review sessions –"

Pansy grinned, not unkindly. Of _course_ Granger had already started studying for her N.E.W.T.'s; how could she do otherwise? It was so perfectly _her_.

Though too much lofty talk of academics could easily ruin the mood too, and they had gone on far too long without Granger blushing. "Oh, I can think of _plenty_ of things you could do with your time…" Pansy spoke in a slightly lower voice, and was gratified to see a flush instantly spread across Granger's cheeks. It was just so _easy_ to get her flustered, and so fun to watch it happen, and Pansy had to remind herself that the ultimate point was to draw Granger in, not scare her away.

Toward that end, Pansy casually changed the subject as though she had meant no innuendo by her previous remark. "Such as heading back up to the castle before it gets too nasty out there – look, it's already starting to rain."

And so it was; scattered drops were making marks on the window and damping the cobblestones outside, slowly, but with no sign of letting up. Most of the shop's occupants seemed to have realized this before they did; and the waitresses were swiftly cleaning up around the one or two lingering couples.

Granger looked out the window, and then at the clock on the wall. "Oh! We've been here longer than I thought, too. You didn't have anywhere else to go before you went back, did you?"

"I was planning on going to Dervish & Banges before I left, but if it starts raining any harder…" she trailed off, hoping Granger would be dissuaded from further inquiry. She wasn't.

"It doesn't look like it will, not soon, anyway. We could go together, even - Ginny's probably at practice, and I haven't got anything really important to do."

Pansy hesitated a moment before answering. Yes, she did have a bit of shopping she still needed to do, but she had been saving it until after her friends were gone for a reason. It wasn't a purchase she wanted anyone seeing her make. But then again, Granger didn't seem the gossipy type, and wasn't likely to go off and tell what they had been doing to anyone who mattered. And she didn't want Granger to get the impression that she was trying to keep things from her.

"Alright, you're more than welcome to come if you want," she said, making a split-second decision. "I still say we'll have to hurry, though; I _really_ don't fancy a walk all the way up to Hogwarts in the rain."

Granger grinned and flagged down the nearest waitress, whom she proceeded to pay, rather smugly, Pansy thought.

"So are we even now, Granger?" she asked, showing that she had not missed it.

"Much better now, yes," said Granger, still smiling a bit smugly. "I think we can stay that way too if we just split the bill from now on," she continued. Her tone could have been described as matter-of-fact if she hadn't been speaking almost too quickly for Pansy to catch the individual words.

"Are you making a proposition?" Pansy asked, cocking an eyebrow and leaning into her personal space a little.

Predictably, Granger got flustered again. "I – well, that is, not unless you…I mean, just as a matter of logistics, hypothetically."

Pansy smirked, and let the Gryffindor's babbled sentence speak for itself. "Right."

Granger averted her eyes and a flush could be seen creeping up her neck. Pansy _loved _this. Draco didn't get flustered; he just got lecherous. And she had long ago lost the novelty of playing with _him_.

They half-jogged over to the shop, shielding their heads with their arms, although this turned out to be mostly unnecessary. The rain was still falling in sparse, windblown drops that failed to get anything very wet.

"So, what did you need to get?" Granger asked, once they had reached the shelter of the shop.

"Expandable chest, or something to that effect," Pansy said, heading off toward the section devoted to magical storage solutions, with Granger following.

The wizened proprietor - Pansy had no idea whether he was Dervish or Banges – nodded at them from the till as they entered, then bent back over his ledger.

"Clutter's getting a bit much; I should have gotten one of these things long time ago," she offered by way of explanation.

In truth, she had never been a cluttered person, and certainly wasn't now, but Granger didn't know that. What Pansy was really looking for was a place to keep all the things that she didn't want her roommates to see, ever; and they had already grown beyond the capacity of the tiny hidden compartment of her school chest.

It had started off with just that one parchment of lists and strategies, which was easily enough concealed or carried about, but now her collection of hard-to-explain objects had grown to include several samples of powerful potions – the Veritaserumed butterbeer, the Draught of Living Death she had brewed on the first day, and her prize for that, the Felix Felicis potion – not to mention the extra Potions equipment that Snape had loaned to her, and the accompanying advanced textbook. None of her classmates knew yet that she was taking lessons with Snape, and things would be easier if it stayed that way.

"How about this one?" Granger had browsed ahead of her in the shelves, to the other end of the small storage section, and was holding up a black dragonhide briefcase. "It says it contains eight different drawers, perfect for keeping all your documents in order…" She stopped reading off the tag and looked up, expectantly.

Pansy laughed. "I don't think I'll be needing to do much filing in the near future, actually." Pansy wandered down the narrow aisle and into the next one, trailing her fingers on the shelf. She could feel Granger's eyes on her, watching her through the shelves, and smiled to herself. Pansy stopped suddenly and glanced up sharply, catching her staring, but Granger, to her credit, was beginning to master her nerves.

"What about this one then?" she asked, not looking greatly disturbed to have been caught looking. Pansy, concluding that there was nothing good on this side, went back around to Granger's side to consider the indicated chest.

"Hmm, not bad. A bit unwieldy, though; I was hoping to find something that would fit in my trunk…"

Granger stood on her tiptoes to see the highest shelf. "Would a bag work?"

A bag? Pansy looked up at the selection that Granger was looking at, which contained everything from little silk handbags to full-size leather rucksacks – none of which would really work for her purposes. "No, I was really just looking for a regular chest," she said, bending down to see a shelf that looked promising, containing "Brodkin's Ever-Expanding Boxes."

"Well, if you already know what you want, why don't you just make it?" asked Hermione, coming up beside her.

"Make one?" Pansy asked, incredulous. What kind of person would you have to be to consider _making_ a magical chest to be a valid alternative to buying one? It was pretty advanced magic for _anyone_, not just a sixth-year Hogwarts student, taking power, finesse, not to mention knowledge of spells Pansy didn't even know the names of - which was why people like Brodkin got rich selling such artifacts to ordinary wizards and witches.

"Well, yeah. If you don't find anything here that suits," said Granger, as though it was nothing. It made Pansy wonder what _else_ Granger took for granted like that.

Pansy wondered what kind of person you had to be to consider making a magical chest, instead of buying one. That was pretty advanced magic for anyone, not just a sixth-year student at Hogwarts. It made her wonder what _else_ Granger took for granted like that.

"Do you think you could really make one of these?"

"I think so," she said, her eyes lighting up again the way they had in the teashop when she found out Pansy was taking Potions lessons. "I read about making them in a book before, and it didn't seem exactly _simple, _but I think I could get the hang of it if I took the book out again and practiced a bit. It was really interesting how they –" She broke off, looking a bit abashed. "But I'm going on, you're probably bored already…"

"I'm not bored!" reassured Pansy, eagerly. Making Granger light up like that was surely a good thing, and just what she needed to learn to do reliably if he project was to succeed. When Granger didn't continue, she prompted, "So how _do_ they work? Everyone uses them, but I don't even know the theory; it must be really interesting."

Granger's eyes lit up again. "Oh, it is!" And she proceeded to explain the theory behind putting large spaces into small physical containers at depth while Pansy browsed the selection of Brodkin's Boxes for one that would serve her purposes.

Pansy, listening with more than half an ear, found that the theory really was interesting, or at least Granger was explaining it in such a way that it seemed so. She found herself wishing that there was someone like Granger in Slytherin; everyone else suddenly seemed very dull by comparison. Or _more_ dull; Pansy had never had a terribly high opinion of her classmates to begin with.

In the end, Pansy settled on the second-smallest box; it had three internal compartments that the lid revealed depending on which lock you used, each at least big enough to contain a good-sized stack of books. The box appeared to be an ordinary-sized chest of pine with brass fittings, of the kind she already used for her toiletries and personal effects. It was perfectly unobtrusive, except for maybe its triple-lock.

The two girls amused themselves while they waited for the aged shopkeeper to come out from the back room by making fun of the styles of all the other magical storage solutions – some of the bags were simply atrocious, and neither could see any merit at all in a coat rack disguised as a boot. Pansy found, to her surprise, that she was actually having fun, in a way that she never did when she was with her own friends.

They left the shop with Pansy clutching her brown paper bag and Granger still giggling every so often. The clouds had closed in for good while they were inside, and it was now dark as well as raining, and the drops were falling faster every minute. Both girls pulled their cloaks tighter about them, but Hermione held up a hand.

"We'd get completely soaked before we get up to the castle; hang on."

Pansy glanced up at the sky, huddled tighter against the budding tempest, and hung on. She hoped whatever Granger was doing with her wand at her cloak was worth standing out in the rain for, when they could be heading toward warmth, dryness, and food. Granger worked a little longer, her forehead temporarily creasing as she muttered at the cloak, and then smoothing out again when she had accomplished whatever it was she was trying to do.

She pulled the top of her cloak, which now seemed a lot bigger, over her head, and turned to Pansy. "There. I made it waterproof, and big enough to keep out at least most of the rain. Want me to do yours?"

Pansy was reasonably confident that she could have managed it on her own if Granger showed her the waterproofing spell, but that wasn't the point here. "Would you?" she asked. "That would be _lovely_. I'd be sopping wet otherwise, and not in the good way." She smirked, not unkindly, at Granger, but the other girl refused to meet her eyes as she worked.

In a matter of moments, Pansy's cloak had been likewise rain-poncho-ized, and they stood close enough together that their impromptu hoods met and formed a sort of tent between them, shielding their faces from the rain.

"That was lovely spell-work," she said, catching Granger's arm as she went to push back a wayward strand of hair. "Thank you." Pansy moved her fingers up and down along the inside of Granger's wrist, where the skin was softest.

"I – oh honestly, it was nothing," Granger blustered, seeming thrown off in equal measures by the compliment and Pansy's languid touch.

"Well, nothing or not, I still feel as though I owe you something for it," Pansy said, in a low voice, continuing the lazy motion on Granger's wrist.

Granger made as if to remove her hand from Pansy's grasp, but then stilled the motion as though she had thought better of it. "Oh, really? Like what?" Her eyes darted up to meet Pansy's, and Pansy could see some nervousness there, but much stronger was the anticipation and the steely determination with which Granger seemed to approach all things.

"Like this, maybe," she said, and leaned forward to kiss Granger on her still-parted lips. She didn't jerk away, as Pansy had half-expected, and Pansy, using her advantage while she had it, deepened the kiss slightly. Kissing Granger was actually quite pleasant, she decided, now that she had gotten her first real impression of what it was like. It was arguably better than when she was running away, though that had been pretty funny in itself.

Granger was minutely shaking by the time she pulled away for air a moment later, but by the look in her eye, the nerves hadn't won over yet. "Isn't that supposed to be my job?" she asked, smiling as she pushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. "Being the one who asked you out and all," she continued, her tone matter-of-fact and slightly breathless.

A sly half-smile crept across Pansy's face, and she raised an eyebrow. "If you say so."

And then Granger, in a move that was spurred mostly, if not purely, by Gryffindor bravado, kissed Pansy back. She didn't close her eyes either, which surprised Pansy nearly as much as the kiss itself, honestly. Pansy had expected to have to do a lot more coaxing, and maybe steal a few more kisses, before Granger was really sold on the idea, and this, as chaste a kiss as it admittedly was, showed things to be going along much faster than Pansy had even predicted.

Keeping this in mind, Pansy constrained herself to returning the light closed-mouth kisses Granger was pressing on her lips, and for the moment didn't try to go any farther. Her strategy, which had seemed to work brilliantly so far, was to alternately push a little too far and then dance out of reach, keeping Granger constantly on her toes, constantly chasing after Pansy, giving her the illusion that she was taking most of the initiative, and not Pansy.

Their hands had somehow slipped together while they were kissing so that it was unclear who was holding whose, and Granger looked at those when she spoke, her hesitation belying her momentary confidence. "Was that ok?"

Pansy deliberately intertwined her fingers with Granger's before she answered, a gesture of affection that was practically alien to her. It seemed to work on the other girl, though, for she squeezed Pansy's hand back a bit more confidently.

"You were lovely," she said, and Granger blushed for the first time since they had been standing out in the rain. "Though, if I remember correctly, it's the one who gets asked who has to kiss the asker at the end of the date." She grinned wickedly, and Granger's voice rose in slightly amused indignation.

"For goodness' sake! And you just let me -!"

"Well, you didn't look as though you minded at the time," said Pansy.

Granger huffed, but it didn't quench her small smile. "Stupid rule anyway. You probably just made it up…"

Pansy just smiled enigmatically and chose not to answer, and also chose not to notice Granger's slightly expectant look. She knew how this worked, and a good part of it was always leaving them wanting a bit more.

"Shall we go up to the castle now? No matter how well this waterproofing spell works, it's still not keeping me from getting cold, and I don't fancy missing supper, either."

"Mmm, me neither," Granger agreed, and checked the time. "We'd better hurry then."

They walked back up to the castle in relative silence, any attempts at conversation muffled at once by the rain and their baggy, makeshift hoods, and only passed a few stragglers on the way. Pansy couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have heard Granger humming under her breath.

When they parted ways in the entrance hall – Pansy cited a need to drop off her shopping to get out of entering dinner late with Granger, an event that would surely make a spectacle – Granger's smile and accompanying goodbye were unguardedly shy for the first time that day.

Pansy stood and watched her go for a minute before she shook her head to clear it, and turned toward her dormitory. She had things to do before everyone got back from supper.

-) U C (-

Hermione collapsed onto Ginny's bed with a slight "oof," smiling blissfully. The smile had never really left her face since she had entered the Great Hall late for supper, still wearing her cloak as though she had just gotten back from Hogsmeade.

Ginny put down her book without marking her place – it was one of her favorite trashy romance novels, and it didn't much matter where you picked up reading it anyway – and wiggled her feet, which were trapped under her friend.

"Get up, you're crushing my feet! And what's got you in such a good mood, anyway?" Even as she asked, she had a pretty good idea of what it was, and she felt the corners of her mouth begin tug up in a grin to rival Hermione's. But she didn't want to steal Hermione's news and ruin her moment.

Hermione obliged and shifted off Ginny's feet, but didn't get up or stop grinning. "Guess," she said, folding her arms behind her head, staring up at the canopy benevolently.

"Well, it was obviously something that happened this afternoon," she said, still hoping to draw Hermione into a confession.

Hermione nodded.

Ginny's resolve to let Hermione be the one to tell broke. "It's Pansy again, right?" Hermione nodded again, and Ginny squealed. "I knew it! This has got to be good. What happened?"

She bounced on her knees a little bit, and strove (mostly in vain) to calm herself. Hermione needed a friend and confidant now, not some giddy schoolgirl – even if the news _was_ terribly exciting, and even if she did have pronounced giddy schoolgirl tendencies. She blamed them on the influence of her dorm mates, since nothing about living at the Burrow with six boys would have encouraged anything like that.

Hermione just grinned wider. "I said to guess!"

Ginny threw out several improbable guesses, all of which earned her giggles and headshakes. She was beginning to see that her worries about giddy schoolgirlness had been centered on the wrong person. She couldn't remember ever seeing Hermione quite like this, and it might have even worried her if it wasn't so infectious.

"Ok, let me think…she proclaimed her everlasting love for you and proposed marriage!"

Hermione giggled again and rolled her eyes expansively, taking in most of the empty fifth-year girls' dormitory. "No, don't be silly, she didn't do anything like that!"

"Um, she snogged the wits out of you and it was the best you've ever had."

Hermione gestured defeat. "Close enough, close enough, stop!" She rolled over onto her side and began picking off lint from Ginny's blanket, her smile not abating as she spoke. "I don't know about the best I've ever had, but it was certainly better than last time."

Ginny felt a niggling concern, but in her current mood, it was momentarily overpowered by the excitement. "She _kissed_ you?! Oh my goodness, was she good? Was it with tongue?" And then, once she had marginally controlled herself, "But what do you mean about last time - why didn't you _say_?"

"The first time hardly counted, that's why." Hermione was seriously mistreating the blanket now. "And besides, I was still sorting out what I thought about it. I probably would have told you, otherwise... It was good though," she admitted, smiling a slow smile that didn't look like it was directed toward Ginny at all.

Ginny sighed. As curious as she admittedly was to see a real live two-female relationship, and as eager as she was for Hermione to find love (finally), some deep protective instinct welled up and blotted all the rest out. "Hermione, I know you're happy about this…and, well, don't take this the wrong way…but wouldn't this be exactly how she'd want you to react if she was trying to, well, seduce you for some evil purpose?"

Hermione sighed heartily and redoubled her efforts on the blanket. "I know; I've already gone over all that a thousand times, it seems. It really isn't simple, no matter how you look at it…"

"God, if only it had been anyone else," Ginny railed ineffectively. None of this would be so hard if they weren't dealing with Pansy Parkinson, of all people. Why couldn't some _nice_ girl have asked Hermione out?

"The problem is, we just don't _know_ anything; that's what's making this so frustrating. The only way to know if she will do anything is just to wait it out though; it would be silly to go and ask her if she had anything bad planned and expect a straight answer. And if she didn't, that would just do more harm than good…"

"Right, we don't know anything yet – but you couldn't at least _try_ to talk to her about it?" Hermione shook her head, muttering something about it being bad timing. "Well, I think it would make all this simpler if you did. You don't have to work this all out on your own, you know; she might actually have something worthwhile to say for herself."

"Right…" said Hermione, and Ginny wondered if the glint in her eye and her returning smile meant that she was contemplating other things she could do with Pansy on the same trip. She shook her head helplessly and gave up trying to convince Hermione for the time being. She did have a point, and if she said she knew what she was doing then Ginny would trust her.

"So, what exactly _did_ she do that got you in such a state?" Ginny demanded, after a sufficiently serious pause had elapsed. She wasn't about to let Hermione get away without telling her; no matter what other issues there were complicating things, it wasn't often that Hermione acted like this about anything. The story was bound to be good.

"Oh, it was just a kiss, not anything big – no good reason for me to be acting silly like this…"

Ginny thought Hermione had the right to act a bit silly once in a while, and told her so, before she turned to teasing out the rest of the story in earnest. There was clearly something about Pansy Parkinson that got to Hermione, and from what she was saying, the Slytherin didn't sound half-bad, really. Ginny had high hopes for the future of the relationship, should Pansy's motives turn out to be pure. The worst that could happen was that Ginny would have to show Pansy just what happened to those who tried to harm Ginny's friends, and she doubted it would actually come to that.

-) U C (-

In the other tower, beyond windows already darkened, Harry rolled over, tangling his blankets around him further, and awoke with an anguished cry. He stayed like that for a while, clutching his forehead and breathing deeply, before he disentangled himself and gingerly sat up in bed.

He had gone to bed practically right after supper, driven by exhaustion, and a desire, which proved to be futile, to just _sleep_ for once, and wake up rested.

He had been dreaming about Voldemort again.

The dreams had been coming almost every night for the past few days, robbing him of sleep, but they had been frustratingly vague, just dream snippets that never played out into a full scene. Nor could he read any emotion off of them, save perhaps an undefined restlessness. He had wondered, the first couple of times, what the dreams could mean, but by now he was beyond caring. It was bad enough to have to suffer for dreams that were actually informative; this was simply cruel.

The dreams left him with nothing more than bags under his eyes, and the realization that to sit alone in the dark, after one has just woken up screaming at nothing, felt incredibly lonely.

Eventually, a fitful sleep claimed him, and he surrendered to it, hoping that by the time he woke up, it all would have passed.

-) U C (-

Away from both towers, down in the dungeons of the castle, Pansy knelt over her open trunk, and was not happy either. She knew exactly the cause though, as it was immediately evident. Or rather, its absence was.

Her vial of Felix Felicis was missing.

Some part of her refused to believe the evidence of her eyes, and made her hands search again and again through the detritus at the bottom of her trunk; it was such a tiny thing, and easily misplaced…

But a larger part knew that her fingers would not come into contact with the cool glass, and that she could take out everything from the trunk one by one and shake them out, but she still wouldn't find it. She had a good idea of who had taken it, though she didn't know how he would have managed. Too many people had seen her win the potion and envied her, but only one had considered it a personal injustice against himself.

Pansy methodically packed the rest of her secret things – which remained untouched – into her new chest, all the while feeling bile rising in her chest, spawning questions with no answers and knowledge that came too late.

_Why _had she just assumed it would be safe in her trunk? If only she had shopped faster, gotten up to the castle faster, not spent so much time having fun. Bad things happened when she let her control slip.

If only Millicent – Millicent, who could be in on it, for all she knew – hadn't been up here when she arrived at the dormitory during supper, if only she had just gotten here a bit sooner, she might have been in time…

She angrily double-checked that everything _else_ was safely tucked away in the chest, even though she knew it was, and angrily locked it and put the whole thing away. Pansy didn't like being angry, which just made things worse now – she was furious that she had been robbed, of course, and she even knew who had been behind it and suspected who could have helped – but there was nothing she could do about it. Not if she wanted to betray the existence of the rest of her secret stash, which whoever had been in her trunk had to have seen.

She kicked the side of her trunk as she closed it, glad that no one was there to see her immature outburst, but all it earned her was a sore toe. Spitefully, she hoped that Draco, or whoever it was, fucking _enjoyed_ their lucky day. They had better, because she certainly wasn't going to.

-) U C (-

Ok, so here's the deal...I'm going to be leaving for my semester abroad (wheee!!) in a few weeks, and don't know how often I'll be able to write. So until further notice, this will just update whenever I get the chance...I feel bad, but it's the best I can do!

Also, I was wondering if y'all could weigh in on a related issue...is a long chapter like this, with a lot of time between updates, or short, somewhat more frequent updates better? I'm curious what you think about it, if anything!

ALSO, I'm looking for another beta for this story! If any of you have been lurking around, wishing you got more say in the writing process, now's your chance! I'd really prefer someone who's been reading the story all along, so don't be shy! (Please, really! I don't want to have to go searching through the scary beta lists again.)

And, I'll try to get one more update, even if it has to be a short one, up before I leave :)


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